


Clarity

by QueenIX



Series: Hindsight [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenIX/pseuds/QueenIX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kira Adassa goes to the Gamma Quadrant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts of the Past, Giants of the Future

**Author's Note:**

> For Perse.

  

Some have said you cannot go home again, and I have recently discovered that sometimes, they're right. I hadn’t visited Deep Space 9 since it was rebuilt. I knew along with everyone else in the quadrant that the old station had been replaced, but it was still a shock when I finally saw the finished product. My mother had warned me of what I would see, knowing that the very words ‘Deep Space 9’ conjured all sorts of memories from my past. She told me that I would have a hard time accepting the new station, and she was also right.

Deep Space 9 had been rebuilt at the behest of Starfleet. The new design was planned by a multi-world consortium of the Federation and her new allies, the Cardassian, Klingon, and Romulan empires. The best of the best from the major Alpha Quadrant powers had a say in how the station was built, in what technology was employed to run it, and in how it was to be governed. Though the station itself was still Bajoran property, and Bajor was a federated world, Starfleet had wisely offered a say in the making of this olive branch of a project to their allies, and DS9 had again served as a symbol of political unity in the Alpha Quadrant.

Starfleet decided to demolish the old station once the new one was operational. My mother was one of the first to know of their plans. Upon hearing the news, my mother decided that if DS9 was going out of commission, she was too. She would stay long enough to see the old station out, and then she would retire. For months, she kept her secret between just her and me, until the time was right to announce it to the rest of the universe.

At my mother’s request, Chief Miles O’Brien came out of his retirement and made the trip all the way from Earth to help her close down the old station. The Chief and my mother were the only remaining members of the station’s original crew that could be there. A big celebration was planned to see the old DS9 out, and I was supposed to have attended the decommissioning ceremonies with my mother. As Uncle Quark had put it, I was DS9 royalty, being the daughter of two of its greatest legends, and besides, the station had once been my home. After all, he said, I was born there, and it was only right that one of DS9’s children should be there to see it out.

I had to agree with Uncle Quark. I very much wanted to be part of the ceremonies, so my mother secured me a front row seat, ousting an ambassador of some sort to get it for me. As fate would have it, my infant daughter caught the Bajoran flu that same week, and I missed the entire thing. I had to be content with a second-hand account from my mother and Miles.

The chief and my mother came to my home on Bajor as soon as the ceremonies were over. As they sat on my sofa sipping  _raktijino_ , they tried to tell me what the ceremony was like. Both of them were listless and distant at first, but Miles seemed much more affected than my mother. I’m sure that had everything to do with Uncle Julian’s death. The decommissioning had brought much of the past to all of our minds, and the chief and Uncle Julian had once shared a very special bond. I couldn’t imagine the ghosts it had summoned for Miles O’Brien to step foot on the old station again.

The chief said little as we visited, letting my mother do most of the talking about the decommissioning ceremonies. When my mother got to the part about the detonation, however, a bit of light finally returned to the chief’s eyes. Major explosions he could apparently talk about.

Four starships had been assigned to help tow DS9 to a safe distance for demolition. The  _Enterprise_  herself was part of the honor guard. My mother and the chief stayed at Ops, co-piloting the old hulk out to empty space and safely away from the wormhole and Bajor. The irony, my mother said, of having Miles O’Brien fire up the thrusters and help her move the station away from the wormhole instead of towards it was not lost. It was a heavy-hearted moment for both of them.

Once my mother and the chief had the station at the correct coordinates, the starships moved off to a safe distance. The station was cleared of any remaining personnel with my mother and the chief going last so they could set the station’s self-destruct sequence. As soon as it was done, they were transported straight to the bridge of the  _Enterprise_  so they could bear witness to the destruction.

They had removed anything potentially catastrophic from the station’s innards before they blew her, the chief said, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty left for her to put on a good show when she went, and they weren't disappointed when it happened. The station’s power core overloaded and DS9 was blown from the stars in a fiery blaze of epic glory. A rainbow-hued corona flew out from her center and lit up the dark like a sun going nova. The  _Enterprise_  and the other observing ships were at a safe distance and were well shielded, but the shockwave still managed to shake a Galaxy-class starship to her knees. The  _Enterprise_  was rocked off her dampeners as DS9 threw out one last death-punch to the universe. It was, Chief O'Brien told me, quite the grand moment.

Later, after my mother had seen the Chief back to the transport station and returned to my house, she told me that in that frightening moment when the  _Enterprise_  had lost inertial stability, she’d caught a glimpse of the Chief’s expression. As he grabbed the back of the helmsman’s chair to keep from falling, his eyes trained on the fiery blaze, Miles Edward O’Brien had never looked more proud of anything in all his life. Or more heartbroken.

When the dust cleared, and the  _Enterprise_  had her skirts on straight again, my mother made her big announcement. She turned from the view screen to face the dignitaries on the bridge, all the honorables and various hobnobs that had come to watch the show. All eyes were trained on her as they waited for the great Kira Nerys deliver some poignant speech to commemorate the occasion. However, my mother was never one to mince her words, especially when her emotions ran close to the surface, so her speech was simple.

“Well that’s that,” my mother said. “Now I can finally retire.”

Without another word, she walked off the bridge of the  _Enterprise_  and did exactly that.

The demolition of the old station was about five years ago now. Through my daily talks with my mother during that time, I probably know more about the decommissioning of DS9 than anyone else in the quadrant. That still didn’t prepare me for the shock of stepping onto the new station from the Bajoran transport I had taken. Starfleet had kept the name the same, but that was about all.

The view from outside of the station had me silent and slack-jawed. The new station was much larger than the original, twice the total area, expanded to accommodate the station’s importance in the quadrant. Gone were the dark Cardassian spires that had been the outer pylons, curling around the station’s central rings like long, grasping fingers. Instead, this new station was more Starfleet from the outside. The docking pylons radiated out from a long central core like spokes on a wheel, and I lost count of how many starships were attached to them. Overall, from the outside, the new DS9 was brightly lit, well-designed, and very inviting. Friendly, even. I hated it.

From the moment I stepped through the airlock, I was in a foreign land. There was nothing about the small hallway that said ‘Deep Space 9’ to me. It was more like ‘Welcome to Starfleet headquarters.’ The hall was also brightly lit, with plain, pearl gray wall panels and patent black computer displays. They’d obviously—and wisely—chosen to use Starfleet’s computer technology in the redesign. The doors of the airlock were Starfleet, too, sliding open with a quiet, automatic whoosh as I passed through. Where were my heavy, dark Cardassian colors, my cranky, groaning, gear-like doors? So far, I was not impressed. This place didn't have enough character to earn the name DS9.

Unbeknownst to me, and adding to my shock, waiting on the other side of those dull Starfleet doors was an honor line of six towering Jem’Hadar guardsmen, and two Vorta facilitators. I had been told to expect someone from the Dominion to meet me at the airlock, but I hadn’t been told anything about this. I stopped short when I saw those monolithic automatons, all standing at ready attention as if they waiting for some dignitary or head of state to step off the transport, and not for the slip-a-dozen Bajoran lawyer that I was. The whole display set my teeth edge and I felt myself color to the roots of my hair. When I contacted Weyoun and asked for transport to the Gamma Quadrant, he’d said nothing of this pompous, ridiculous excess. If he had, I would most definitely have booked passage elsewhere. Though I’m sure Weyoun knew that.

One of the Vorta stepped forth from the ranks. His appearance was typical of his species- black, curling hair folding over elongated ears, grayish skin, and piercing, sapphire-blue eyes. He was average height for a Vorta, which meant he was much shorter than me. But then again, so are a lot of people.

“Founder,” the Vorta greeted. He smiled and swept a low bow. “It is an honor to meet you. I am Kevaan. I have been assigned as your attaché for this journey. If you need anything—anything at all— it will be my privilege to provide it. You need only state your wish, and it will be done.”

I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat as the Vorta smiled up at me. An attaché? Weyoun hadn’t said anything about any attaché, either. 

“Hello, Kevaan,” I murmured. I stared dumbly at him as he eased the carryall strap from my shoulder. He handed it off to a waiting Jem’Hadar. “And please,” I said as he took my handbag. “Call me Kira.”

Kevaan’s eyes widened as if I’d said something offensive. His diplomatic breeding, however, showed in his quick recovery, and in his words.

“Founder,” he said quietly, close to my ear, “it is most kind of you to permit a servant like myself such familiarity, but it is best we keep to formality. The Jem’Hadar are easily offended in these matters, and we certainly do  _not_  want to offend the Jem’Hadar.”

I looked at the scaly, grim faces on the Jem’Hadar guardsmen and decided to take his advice. “Alright,” I conceded. “Founder it is, then. How long do I have on the station? When does the ship leave for the Gamma Quadrant?”

The second Vorta stepped forth then. She also greeted me with a low, reverent bow. It was no less uncomfortable to witness the second time. This Vorta introduced herself as Mura and informed me she would be captaining our ship for this trip.

“The ship leaves as you will it, Founder,” Mura said.

Apparently, our timetable was up to me, then. I was eager to get on with my journey, but I was also eager to see the rest of the station. I decided I wanted to do a little site-seeing before we left. I told the Vorta as much, and they bowed once again at my words.

Kevaan sent Captain Mura and the Jem’Hadar carrying my luggage back to the ship. He fell in step beside me as we continued down the hallway and to the station main. Much to my confusion, the five remaining Jem’Hadar guardsmen fell in behind us. I understood they were there as protection, but failed to understand the need. What was it they thought they needed to guard me against? We were, after all, still in my backyard.

“Kevaan,” I asked, “why do the Jem’Hadar have to follow us? They’re not even armed. What’s the point?”

“Founder, I understand this may be uncomfortable for you, but it must be tolerated. The Link instructed us to make every effort to ensure your safety on this journey. First Romat’atlan was charged with this task by your father himself, and the Jem’Hadar take their tasks quite seriously.” He tilted his eyes at me as we walked. “And may I remind the Founder that a Jem’Hadar soldier is a very capable and dangerous being, even without a weapon.”

Kevaan was right about that. I stood corrected. “Which one’s the First?” I asked.

“The soldier behind us, and to the left.”

I looked over my shoulder at the soldier behind me, noting the metal badge on his chest that marked him as first. My gaze slid up to the soldier’s eyes. He met my gaze directly, giving me a terse nod. I returned it. He turned his gaze back to glower darkly ahead of us.

“I still don’t understand all the fuss,” I said, turning back to Kevaan. “What's this all about?”

“Founder, your father has waited over thirty years for this meeting. He expressed to me that it has been his greatest wish to be reunited with you and see you restored to your people. Considering what you mean to him, who you are to him, you cannot blame him for being overly cautious.”

“Hmph,” I grunted. “If my father was so eager to see me, and so worried, why didn’t he come himself? It isn’t as if he didn’t know where to find me. Unlike him, I never left.”

“It’s not my place to offer explanations about your father’s reasons,” he said. “He is, after all, one of my gods. I can only tell you that once we arrive on Aria, and you meet the Link, I believe you will come to understand far more of your father—and yourself—than you could ever anticipate.” 

I rolled my eyes. Kevaan had to go and bring up the god thing. I knew it would happen at some point, but it made me even more uncomfortable. I decided to let the topic rest and just deal with the presence of my lethal followers before I asked any more questions I really didn’t want answers to. I was well aware of the religious relationship between the Link and its two creations, the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar, and I was well aware it had much to do with how I was being treated. That still didn’t make me like it. Weyoun had told me all those years ago when I first met him that I was considered a ‘child of the Link,’ and as a Vorta, he could have just as easily proclaimed me a child of the gods. That fact was something I had tried very hard to forget. I am definitely not qualified to be a deity. I don’t even believe they exist. I won't represent myself as one, either, no matter how much bowing the Vorta do.

My guard and I walked silently the rest of the way from the airlock terminal, and out onto the Promenade. Or, at least, what they were calling the Promenade. Just like on the old DS9, the central square of the station was bustling and buzzing, but that’s where the similarities ended. The construction was completely different, the Promenade now expanded to four levels instead of two, and twice the length, boasting more commerce space than ever before. I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. I wandered out into the center and looked up, four levels up, to a massive glass ceiling overhead that displayed the open stars above me. The effect was like being under a night sky on solid ground, not floating lightyears away in dead space.

I turned in a slow circle, taking in the rest of the Promenade like a gaping tourist. I noticed some more familiar influences in the design. There was no mistaking the Cardassian influence in the long, gothic support struts that ran from floor to ceiling, though the color of the metal was more Starfleet. The rounded windows on the hull still resembled lidless eyes looking out into space, but without the Cardassian fluting lining their edges, the effect just wasn’t the same. I did have to give the designers credit, though, for the fusion of the two totally different styles of Earth and Cardassia they had used. They suited each other somehow. I knew from talking with my mother that the Romulan and Klingon influences on the station would be found in more technical places, like weapon systems and shielding, things I had no interest in, and frankly, no right to see.

I quit gawking and got serious. I studied the shopfronts, searching for any that I remembered from my childhood. Quark’s Bar was still there, of course, in a prominent place on the first level. After all, what would DS9 be without Quark’s? But I had no interest in going inside the bar. My only interest inside of Quark’s bar had been the proprietor, but Quark had also retired when Starfleet rebuilt. He finally had enough latinum to buy that moon he always wanted, and had gone to live out his days in well-earned ease. Morn, of course, had gone with him. After all, what would Quark be without Morn?

Quark’s four Ferengi nephew-successors were running the bar now. Leeta and Rom were unable to have children of their own, and had adopted. Contrary to Ferengi tradition, their adopted offspring had obviously become very dear to Quark anyway since he’d trusted them with his legacy. I knew he’d still be at the bar slinging synthahol himself if they hadn’t.

Looking away from Quark’s, trying not to let the emotions I felt over what and who I was missing overtake me, I scanned the rest of the row. None of the vendors on the first level were familiar to me, except one, far down the way. I broke into a huge grin when I spied it. The  _jumja_  vendor was still there. I recognized the vendor’s wife, Ja’mel, immediately. I knew her by her hair. There was no mistaking that blonde nest of crazy curls, even at this distance. Grinning, I picked up my feet and rushed her way.

In my nostalgia-fueled haste, I'd forgotten about my scaly retinue. A rather tall, amber-eyed Bajoran woman, five Jem’Hadar guards, and a Vorta facilitator were a strange sight rushing down the Promenade together, even for DS9. A strange sight, and an unwelcome one. As we headed for the  _jumja_  stand the crowds parted for us, people snatching their neighbors out of our paths, pointing at us and whispering behind their hands as dark scowls and looks of fear marred their features. Over thirty years had gone by since a Jem’Hadar had raised a weapon at an Alpha Quadrant citizen, but there are some things people never quite forget.

I slowed my pace, trying to make us all look more casual. It didn’t help. We were still a sideshow, but now people had more time to stare. The negative attention daunted me. I certainly wasn’t used to it. I saw the big mistake I’d made in coming to the Promenade with my unasked-for entourage, but I ignored my unease. I was determined I would salvage at least one piece of my past from this visit, disturbing the peace on the Promenade be damned. I wanted, needed, just a few minutes to visit with Ja’mel.

The customers hanging by the _jumja_  stand scattered like startled voles as we approached. Ja’mel had her back turned, deep in conversation with someone on the other side of the stand, so she didn’t see us coming.

“Ja’mel?” I called.

Ja’mel turned my way, and did a surprised double take. My guards caught her attention first. How could they not? Her eyes widened with shock, but she quickly recovered. Her gaze finally settled on me, and she broke into a huge smile.

“By the Prophets’ grace, if it isn’t Kira Adassa!”

Ja’mel scurried out from behind the counter, edging past Kevaan. Heedless of the five Jem’Hadar bodyguards watching her with deadly intent, she threw her arms around my neck and caught me in a huge bear hug. Being much taller than Ja’mel, I had to dip my knees to keep her from choking me, but I didn’t mind. Feeling those familiar arms around me and rocking me in their embrace, and smelling the sweet-spicy smell of  _jumja_  fruit in her hair made any discomfort worth it.

“Little Dassi,” Ja’mel grinned, releasing me. “How long has it been? Ten? Twelve years?”

“I think more like fifteen,” I replied, grinning back.

“Well, fifteen years, and I would still know that striking face of yours anywhere. You haven’t changed a bit, and you’ve always been such a beauty.” I smirked doubtfully, and she pinched my cheek, laughing. “How have you been,  _chila_? How’s your mother?”

“Fine. She’s fine.”

“And Mi’kal? How’s he doing?”

“Very well. He was reelected to city council, and they’re already encouraging him to run for a bigger seat next time, but Mi’kal says he’s not anywhere near ready for that. In a few years, maybe, but for now, he’s content. And we have a daughter, too. Her name's Odessa. She’s five now.”

“Well, bless you,  _chila_ , bless you!” Ja’mel exclaimed. “My little Dassi, a mother. Prophets, it wasn’t that long ago, you were the child, nothing but bouncing braids and colt’s legs running too fast down the old Promenade, rushing to my stand for a treat and a visit. My, how the time does fly.”

Looking at Ja’mel a little closer as she beamed up at me, I finally noticed how much she had aged. I don’t know why it surprised me. She was in her eighties. However, there had been no lines around her sparkling jade eyes in my memory of her, but they were there now, deep and set. The blonde of her hair, that head of downy, frizzy golden locks that were Ja’mel’s trademark, was shot through with gray. Time did indeed fly, I thought, my smile fading. And it stopped for none of us.

I took Ja’mel’s hands from my face and kept them in mine. “How’s Stelen? Is he here? Can I see him?”

“Oh,” Ja’mel replied, her face falling. “I’m sorry, dear, you must not have heard. I lost my Stelen six months ago. Died in his sleep, he did.”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Ja’mel, I had no idea. No one told us.”

“Don’t you fret about it,  _chila_ ,” she smiled, patting my cheek. “It was a peaceful death. After everything Stelen and I lived through with the Occupation, and again with the Dominion War, dying quietly in his bed was not something Ja’lal Stelen ever thought would happen to him. He would’ve been very happy with that end, make no mistake.”

I paused, holding back my tears. I spent half my childhood watching Stelen make  _jumja_  sticks at his stand, listening and learning as he told me traditional allegories and tales of ancient Bajor. My daily visits had passed the time for both of us, pleasantly. But what right had I to cry when Ja’mel could smile as she talked of his loss? Stelen had been her husband of over sixty years.

“Speaking of the Dominion,” Ja’mel said, lowering her voice. She tilted her head at my posse. “Who’re these fellas?”

I rolled my eyes, and said, “My personal guard, if you can believe it. Complete with my very own Vorta attaché.”

Kevaan, who had been standing at my elbow the whole time, gave Ja’mel a short bow.

“My, my,” Ja’mel quipped, raising a brow. “That’s posh. Your mother know the kind of company you’re keeping?”

“Of course, she does,” I replied. She didn’t, actually, but I would tell her, eventually. “She’s watching my daughter for me, as a matter of fact. I’m here because I’m going to the Gamma Quadrant. I’m…Well, I’m finally going to get to meet my father, Ja'mel.”

“And I suppose these thugs are his doing?”

“So I’m told.”

“Well, I’m glad for you, _chila_ , even if I’m not too keen on your father's methods. I know you’ve wanted to meet him for a long time, and I don't blame you. I’ve missed him, too, and his company. An interesting man, was Constable Odo, if a bit closed off. The Promenade's never been the same without him. Though I am surprised he didn't come get you himself. The Odo I remember would’ve done that, would never have sent someone else to take care of his own." Ja'mel heaved a sigh. "But I suppose the years change us all.”

“They do,” I smiled. “But some of us never change, like kind, caring, open-hearted  _jumja_  vendors who were like second mothers to a lonely child.”

“Gah!” Ja’mel exclaimed, pulling a face. “Go on with ya, girl. Make an old woman bawl, you will, with that kind of talk. Get on out of here, get on with your trip, and get your fancy friends out of here, too. They’re bad for my business, and they’re making the natives restless.”

I looked up then, and behind me, following Ja’mel’s gaze. My Jem’Hadar had now drawn a crowd instead of repulsing one. A not-too-happy-looking crowd. Ja’mel was right, we needed to go.

But forget angry crowds. I wasn't done yet. “One more hug first,” I said, opening my arms.

Ja’mel smiled and squeezed me tight. She let me go and said, “When you see Odo, you tell him Ja’mel still remembers that she was right, and he was wrong about who would win the ’70 springball playoffs. It was the only time Odo didn’t call something dead right in all the years I knew him. Thought the station would implode, it was such an occurrence.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him," I replied, ginning.

Ja’mel's smile faded. “May the Prophets keep you, Kira Adassa, and safe journey.”

“May the Prophets keep you, Ja’lal Ja’mel," I returned. "And thank you, for everything.”

With a long last look at Ja’mel, I said goodbye once more, silently. Something told me I wouldn’t see her again, like much else from my past on DS9. Before that instinctual feeling could sink its teeth in my heart, I turned to Kevaan.

“Let’s get out of here before this crowd gets any bigger.”

“Of course, Founder,” Kevaan replied. “Follow me, and I will lead you to the  _Rovia_.”

I assumed that was the name of our ship. At, least, I hoped that’s where we were going. I trusted Kevaan to lead the way. We cut our way quickly through the crowded Promenade, the Jem’Hadar still surrounding me like I was a state secret. We made our way to the turbolift and boarded. Kevaan ordered the lift to take us to outer docking pylon number seventeen.

That gave me pause. Why would they park a transport ship on an outer docking pylon? A transport ship didn’t need to be all the way out there; it was too small. Outer pylon space was reserved exclusively for only the largest ships.

When we got off the lift, my question was answered. There, on the pylon, through a large port window, I had a full view of the Dominion ship  _Rovia_  in all her incredible glory. Even though the construction was different than I expected, there was no mistaking that this was my ride, not with those massive, violet nacelles hugging close to her sleek hull. She was magnificent. And way too much ship. My father had sent no simple transport vessel to pick up his daughter. He had sent a full starship, not as big as a Starfleet Galaxy class, but even a ship a quarter of that size would’ve been overkill.

I looked down at a smiling Kevaan, who was standing at my shoulder. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Kevaan's smile dropped. “Does the ship displease you, Founder? I can have another sent to replace it.”

“Displease me?” I repeated. “Oh, no. The ship itself does not displease me. She’s beautiful. But why a full starship for this trip? How many others are we transporting?”

“None."

“None?”

“Correct, Founder. The ship is yours.”

“Mine?”

Kevaan smiled at my dumb-struck parroting. “Yes, yours," he said, "along with her crew. You are her only passenger.”

I looked back to the _Rovia,_ chewing onmy lower lip nervously. An entire starship sent to transport one half-Bajoran woman. But why?

“Level with me here, Kevaan,” I said. “That’s a huge waste of ship, and resources, and we both know it. Why so big of a ship just to collect me?”

“Again, Founder, your father is concerned for your safety. We will be traveling deep into Dominion territory to get to the Founders’ homeworld. Although the Dominion is mostly calm these days, there is still unrest in some of the systems we will pass through. The  _Rovia_ , as you say, is a beautiful ship, but she is also swift and incredibly powerful. She is, in fact, the most powerful ship we’ve ever built of this class.”

I felt another roil of nerves go through me. If there were social problems on the other side of the wormhole, the mention of them had been kept hush-hush from the Alpha Quadrant. Just how dangerous was this trip going to be, if I needed a whole starship to get me there?

“How long will we travel?” I asked.

“Only three days, Founder. A regular warp ship would take twice that long, but the  _Rovia_  has been outfitted with a new type of engine. It is a prototype warp drive, designed by our finest engineers.” He gazed fondly at the  _Rovia_ , and his smile brightened. “We’re quite proud of her.”

I looked again on the magnificent ship my father had sent, trying to see it through Kevaan's eyes. My smile brightened, too. It really was a beautiful ship, and I started to understand the reasoning behind the overkill. The Dominion was showing off a little.

“Well, Kevaan,” I said, “let’s not waste any more time. My father isn’t the only one who’s waited thirty years for this meeting.”

“As you will it, Founder,” he said with a small bow.

I followed Kevaan down the terminal to the airlock. We crossed the threshold into the ship, the Jem’Hadar still trailing behind us. I was just as taken with the  _Rovia_  from the inside as I had been from the outside. Her interior design was a happy marriage between the Dominion functionality I was familiar with (thanks to historical data banks) and to a comfort one would expect to see on a Starfleet ship. The  _Rovia_  was no warship, but she was no casual cruise vessel, either.

Kevaan asked if I wanted to watch the  _Rovia_  disembark from the bridge. I almost said yes, but my emotions had become mixed by the events of the day, and by the sight  _Rovia_  herself. After so many years of silent longing, I was finally doing this. I was finally here, on my way to the Gamma Quadrant. Seeing the  _Rovia_  leave from the bridge sounded like an amazing experience, but I decided to turn Kevaan down. I felt the need to be alone for a while.

“Kevaan,” I began as we continued to my quarters. “I know the Dominion doesn’t usually name anything but their flagships. They use serial designations. Why did they name this one?”

“Your father again, I’m afraid,” Kevaan replied. “This design was his commission. He wanted a ship for the Vorta and Jem’Hadar to travel in while doing the Link’s business that was more representative of the new Dominion. Less threatening and more diplomatic, if you will.”

“I see,” I said. “And the name itself? What does it mean?”

We reached the end of our walk and arrived at a set of lift doors. Kevaan paused in front of them, folding his hands behind his back.

“The name,” he said, “is a Dominonese word for a wildflower native to the planet Gylios. It grows profusely there, in all climates, and blooms year-round, no matter the harshness of its surroundings. The blossom of the  _rovia_  is brilliant crimson red. Though we Vorta lack a sense of aesthetics to appreciate the flower’s purported beauty, it still makes an impression on us. Red is one of the few colors of the spectrum we can see.”

A crimson bloom that flourishes in the worst conditions, beautiful but tough, standing out even to the colorblind. I got the metaphor. I knew exactly who my father was thinking of when he chose the name for this ship. It hurt my heart a little.

Silently, keeping my thoughts to myself, I boarded the lift with my entourage. When it stopped, we all made the short walk to my quarters. First Ramat'atlan and one foot solider were left outside my door to stand sentinel, and the rest were dismissed. The guards were still unnecessary to me, especially on their ship, but at least we’d trimmed down the numbers. I walked through the doors to my assigned quarters and was immediately impressed. They were quite large, too large for just me, and were well appointed. I noticed my bags had been brought here, as well. Kevaan showed me around, making sure I was familiarized with the Dominion computer interface, and reminded me once again to call upon him for any need I should have. I thanked him, and he left me.

About ten minutes later, I heard the engines of the _Rovia_  fire up. I watched from the window of my quarters as we moved away from DS9 and made our way to the wormhole. As the  _Rovia_  approached, the gates of the Celestial Temple burst open, welcoming us, and the ship passed through. That cobalt lightning storm I’d heard so much about enveloped the ship, as tumultuous and beautiful as I’d been told, and then, before I knew it, we were dropped back in black and starry space. We were through the wormhole.

For the first time in my life, I was officially in the Gamma Quadrant.

 

 


	2. A Flash of Amber

 

 

The armistice that ended the Dominion War was signed in 2375. The proceedings were held on Deep Space 9. Both my mother and my father were present on that historic day. The articles of the armistice were presented to the female Founder by way of ancient tradition, on paper. With a hasty splash of ink, she spoke for the whole of the Great Link and decreed that the Dominion would officially end its great conflict with the Alpha Quadrant.

There were, of course, some terms to the cease-fire. The agreement stated that the Dominion would immediately withdraw its troops from the Alpha Quadrant, free all POW’s, and relinquish its claim on any planetary bodies it had seized. Any property or technology left behind would belong to the Alpha Quadrant. The Dominion would also agree that future travel through the wormhole would be restricted to no more than five ships at a time, and with prior authorization, else their presence be considered a declaration of war and all agreements made during the armistice would become null and void.

The Dominion was to end immediately its pact with the Breen, as it pertained to the making of war with Breen’s neighbors. The Breen were also to return seized territories and release any POW's. As for continuing diplomatic relations between the Dominion and the Breen, that was entirely up to them. The Breen also had to agree to the terms or face war anew with the powers of the Alpha Quadrant that were represented on the peace council. As far as the council was concerned, so long as the Breen followed the concessions, they were willing to let bygones be bygones, and send the Breen back to their territory and their isolationism.

Both the Breen and the Dominion agreed, and so it has been since 2375.

For its part, the Dominion demanded that the Federation, the Klingons, the Cardassians, and the Romulans would agree to similar terms. No more than five starships may be in Dominion space at any time, all POW's would be returned, and the Alpha Quadrant powers would not tread into Dominion territory beyond specific boundaries named in the armistice. Those boundaries were shallow, restricted to the star systems where the Alpha Quadrant had made contact before the war began. The Dominion was emphatic about these set limits, making it clear they would act with extreme prejudice to  _anyone_  caught beyond them.

In other words, go ahead and keep trading with the Gamma Quadrant friends you’ve already made, but get caught where you’re not supposed to be, looking for new friends, and you can expect to get blown out of the stars by the Jem’Hadar.

The Federation and its allies decided that was fair enough.

There was much else written into the armistice from all sides of the struggle, about reparations, compensation, establishing ambassadors, et cetera, and just who would help rebuild Cardassia since the Dominion was to be rushed out the door as soon as possible. It went on at length and in great detail, and I would know. I’ve read it. It was required reading for an intergalactic law student. At the very end of the documents, however, was one last concession from both sides, penciled in at the last minute and written in plain language. I memorized them both.

From the Federation:  _The entity known as the female Changeling, or the Founder, will agree to serve a one hundred year prison sentence in a maximum security facility. Her interment will stand as a symbol of the Great Link’s regret, and as reparation for the loss of_ _life_ _her people have caused during this atrocious and unprovoked aggression against the Alpha Quadrant._

From the Founder herself:  _The Changeling known as Odo will return home. He will deliver the cure for the genocidal disease that has been inflicted upon the Great Link. If this is not done as it is written, the war will continue. We vow the Alpha Quadrant will never again know peace if the Great Link falls._

And, for the history buffs, after signing the armistice in the presence of its lofty witnesses, the last words the Founder has ever spoken aloud were this:  _“It’s up to you now, Odo.”_

My parents were well aware of this last concession before the signing, and what it meant for my father. Admiral Ross insisted my father also sign the armistice to be sure it was legally acknowledged by all named parties, but it was a formality. Admiral Ross had known full well my father would follow through, signature or no. It was, after all, Odo himself that was responsible for convincing the Founder to call the cease-fire that ended the war. If it hadn’t been for my father, the armistice wouldn't have happened, and for all I know, we would all now be Dominion citizens. Or worse.

While all of this incredible history was being written right in my own home, I was in the care of Keiko O’Brien, playing with her son, Yoshi, completely unaware in my toddlerhood bliss that I was about to lose my father. I was young enough that it didn’t impact me as much as it might have. I have no memories of him. But as I’ve said before, his shadow has hovered over my mother and me for all these long years. Like any child who grew up knowing they had a father out there somewhere they’d never met, I harbored a secret wish to one day be reunited with him.

And now, here I was, ensconced in my luxurious quarters aboard the  _Rovia_ , about to get that wish.

As was my habit when I was troubled, I pulled my pendant out from under my tunic, holding it my palm. Concentrating on the glints and glimmers of light that caught in the amber stone always eased my mind. The necklace was a gift from my father, given to me on my fourteenth birthday. It came with a message, one I had never been able to interpret. Suddenly, it occurred to me I was finally going to get that chance. I would finally be able to ask my father directly what this necklace was really about, and what those cryptic words, “I’ll want this back,” had meant. Now, though, for some reason, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know.

A high-pitched pair of tones rang through my quarters, startling me. I assumed the noise was a door chime, so I called for the door to open and rose to greet my guest.

It was Kevaan, of course. He greeted me with the usual bow. “Good morning, Founder. I trust you slept well.”

I hadn’t. I ‘d tossed and turned and was kept awake well into the small hours by a keen and lonely ache. I missed my husband’s presence in bed beside me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept alone, without Mi’kal, and thinking about Mi’kal led to me to thinking about Odessa, who I’d never been parted from before. I was already starting to regret my insistence on making this trip alone.

Eventually, I'd given up trying to sleep. I had been up for hours already, dressed and ready. For what, who knows. All I’d done with the time was stare blankly out the window at the blur of stars as we streaked through space.

I told Kevaan none of this, however. There was nothing he could do to change it, and telling him the truth would only burden him. After all, no one wanted an unhappy Founder.

“I slept fine, Kevaan, thank you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“Founder, you honor me,” he said, lowering his eyes and dipping his head. “It is I who am here to serve. I came to see if there was something I could do for you. We still have approximately two days of travel ahead. I thought maybe a tour of the ship would help you pass the time.”

Actually, that wasn’t a terrible idea. I told Kevaan as much and swung around to grab a jacket to throw over my tunic. Space was cold, no matter the environmental controls. My mother always said she attributed that feeling not to actual temperature, but to the constant dark. 

As I turned to reach for my jacket, a small, surprised gasp issued from Kevaan. The noise startled me, and I turned back to face him. His deep blue eyes were trained on my chest, his stare wide, his mouth slightly gaped. The expression blooming on his face was beatific as if he’d seen something incredible, something soul-stirring.

I raised a brow at him, confused. What about my chest would be that captivating to a Vorta?

“Kevaan?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

Kevaan dropped his gaze to the floor. “Forgive me,” he mumbled.

Well, he wouldn’t be the first person to stare at my chest I’d forgiven, but the look on his face told me his reaction had nothing to do with my actual chest. I looked down at myself and saw nothing amiss, except that I’d forgotten to tuck my pendant under my tunic.

The pendant that my father, the Changeling, had given me.

I picked up the stone and held it out in the flat of my hand. “Kevaan,” I said, “is this what’s bothering you?”

His gaze flitted to my palm, and then quickly away. He didn’t answer.

I heaved a sigh. This humble, drop the head, be submissive Vorta thing was starting to get on my nerves. Kevaan owed me no such deference, no one did, and I decided if I was going to be able to actually talk with him, we’d have to do something about it.

“Kevaan, please look up.”

“I cannot, Founder. It is not permitted.”

“Kevaan, if you don’t look up and tell me what’s bothering you, I’m going to order you to call me Kira for the rest of this trip.”

Kevaan slowly, warily, raised his eyes to mine, carefully avoiding the pendant.

“That’s better. Now what about this necklace is so disturbing?”

“We are not permitted to watch a Founder change form. The only Vorta ever given that honor was Weyoun.”

Change form? What in the world was the Vorta talking about? It was only a necklace.

Wasn’t it?

“Kevaan, this doesn’t change form, I don’t change form. This is called amber. It’s a gemstone from Earth, that’s all. For Prophet’s sake, look at it, Kevaan. It’s still in the same shape.”

He tried, he really did. Kevaan tried to make himself look at the stone, but his Vorta conditioning still won out. He couldn’t do it, but was still trying anyway, to please me.

A wave of guilt washed through me as watched his struggle. I realized I was demanding a religious zealot defy a lifetime of teaching, just because I didn’t agree with it. Proof positive I wasn’t ready to be a deity. I quickly tucked the necklace under my tunic, hiding it.

“Kevaan, I'm sorry, it’s gone now. You’re safe.”

Kevaan visibly relaxed.

“Whatever you thought you saw,” I said, softening my tone, “it wasn’t a Founder. It really was just a necklace. But I’m curious. Why did you think my necklace was a Founder?”

“The flash of light, the color. It is that of the Founders’ true form. I…I know you are humanoid, and that you cannot change as the other Founders do, so I was off my guard, not expecting to see…So when I did, I could not avert my eyes in time, and I was…” Kevaan gave me another deep bow. “Please, Founder, please. Forgive my disobedience.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Kevaan. It was my fault. I’ll be more careful in the future.” And wow, did I ever mean that. What would happen if I showed the necklace to a Jem’Hadar?

Kevaan rose from his bow, calmer now, his neutral, polite expression smoothing back in place. He waited as I grabbed the jacket that had started all of this, and, as an after-thought, my holo-imager. Then, we stepped out of my quarters to begin my personally guided tour of the Dominion ship  _Rovia_.

First Ramat’atlan fell in step behind us. He looked just as lethally alert as he had when he'd taken century outside my door the night before. I remembered the Jem’Hadar did not require sleep. I stifled a yawn, wishing I could say the same.

The glimpses of the ship I’d gotten on my way from the airlock had impressed me, and the tour itself put me in a state of awe, but it also left me filled with more unease than ever. I had seen starships before. I did grow up on DS9, but mostly I was content to see them from the outside. The ships themselves, their inner workings and their schematics, had never held much interest for me. I never wanted to join Starfleet or the militia and follow in my parents' footsteps. How their lives had ended up, the things they went through for the cause had taught me much about the realities of such a life, and that it was definitely not for the faint of heart. Or for those who were generally not okay with their lives being constantly threatened. Unlike my parents, epic just wasn’t in me, and a certain amount of epicness was required to live life among the stars.

The  _Rovia_  was new, but not too new, I could tell. I had already learned enough about my father to know he’d never send anything untested to ferry his daughter through space. Kevaan explained that there had been three ships before her with the same design and that they had been put through the paces until all the kinks had been worked out and they were entirely satisfied they could build a finished product. That was the  _Rovia_. She had seen over three thousand hours in space, and so far, had had absolutely no flaws. The engines, which Kevaan proudly showed off when we visited engineering, were as he'd said, one of a kind. The prior engineering problems on the other three ships had been considered and reworked until they had an engine design worthy to place into the  _Rovia_. No other ship out there was exactly like her.

The corridors of the  _Rovia_ were of a medium gray alloy and rounded, slightly narrower and taller than a Starfleet ship, and not anywhere near as brightly lit. A consideration, I knew, for the Vorta. Their eyes were sensitive to light. However, the hallway walls had side lights that ran in three narrow strips in horizontal stripes, those stripes of light that same specific violet as the nacelles, utilizing the glow from the power conduits. That violet light, Kevaan explained, was less intrusive for the Vorta as it was not on the same UV spectrum as the lights I was used to. It was also considerably more energy efficient.

To me, the effect was as if I was walking through a constant state of evening as we toured the ship, in that time that happened right after sunset, where the sun was gone, but the glow of the sky still left some light. I liked it.

Dark grey, almost black carpeting softened our footfalls as we walked the maze of corridors. Each area Kevaan took me to was a showplace, but an efficient one. Despite her size, there was no wasted space on the  _Rovia_. Like a Starfleet ship, she had sections dedicated to different aspects of space travel and exploration, like a science lab, an astrometrics lab and an infirmary, though none of them were currently in use. The habitat decks, Kevaan informed me, had enough rooms to carry up to three hundred passengers, but at the moment were also unoccupied. Except for me.

There was much less space of the ship’s public areas dedicated to recreation or exercise than one would find on a Federation ship. There was a holodeck, but Kevaan informed me that beyond beta testing, it hadn’t been used. The Vorta and the Jem’Hadar had no use for such things. It was installed with the idea that one day, the  _Rovia_  might carry passengers to fill that empty habitat space.

As we toured, I spotted a few Jem’Hadar here and there, guarding empty corridors or monitoring key areas of the ship’s operations, like the engine room. The engine room also had an assigned Vorta, who I had the chance to briefly meet. He was as subservient to my presence as Kevaan was, but not as talkative or at ease, to the point of seeming antisocial, which was not a quality I had previously associated with the Vorta. Kevaan later explained that there are Vorta bred for just such tasks, ones that were designed to be overseers and monitors in a myriad of professions, as well as those bred to be scientists and technicians. They were genetically designed without the Vorta brand of diplomacy I was accustomed to. After all, they didn’t really need it.

On the bridge, I met with Mura again. The bridge was still of the standing-room-only design. There were Jem’Hadar at various posts, doing their Jem’Hadar things. For the captaining Vorta, the Dominion still employed the headset technology, but the  _Rovia_ had a regular view screen, which Mura turned on for me. There wasn’t much to see as we were traveling at high warp. The stars were just as blurry and blank as they had been from the window of my quarters.

Mura was as proud of her ship as Kevaan was and rattled off all the things the ship could do. She went on and on about things like the ship's tactical payload (big), its top speeds (tip-top) and other operational bragging rights of the _Rovia_  that would have sent any Starfleet cadet into a tailspin of envy. However, Mura's pride was mostly wasted on me as I only understood about half of what she said. When my attention began to drift, Mura offered me a shot at trying her headset. That woke me up. I grinned like a kid at a toy shop and even bounced on my feet a little. It was like being invited to sit in the captain’s chair.

The view from the headset, to coin a Human phrase, was pretty cool. The eyepiece displayed constant status readouts to the sides of my vision, overlaid on the view of the streaking stars outside the hull. Mura taught me how to scroll the screen with a slight flick of the head. The readout on the display changed to match sensor input from whatever room I was looking at. I shuffled through cargo bays, the empty mess hall, the main habitat hallway. When I landed on engineering, the readout told me how fast we were traveling, the status of the engines, the stability of the warp core, and how we were doing on tri-lithium levels. With just this headset, the captain could monitor the activities of the entire ship from one place, never leaving the bridge, and never needing anyone else’s input. Overall, it was much more efficient than traditional ship captaining, if not very interactive.

While I am part Bajoran, and the headset technology is compatible with Bajoran physiology, my human side couldn’t tolerate it for long. I was just starting to enjoy myself and all the things I was learning from Mura when the room started spinning. A sharp, stabbing pain began behind my eyes, and I snatched the headset off, shoving it back at her. The dizziness only got worse. I stumbled- probably over my own feet- and tripped, but didn’t fall. First Ramat’atlan caught me before I hit the floor. In that moment, I learned I could actually be grateful for the presence of a Jem’Hadar.

First Ramat’atlan kept his steadying hold on me until the pain subsided and my balance was back. I took advantage of that hold, taking few deep breaths until I was sure I could stand on my own. When I was sure, I tried to wriggle out of Ramat’atlan’s grip, but he didn’t let up. I huffed, and slapped at the scaly, gigantic hands at my waist like a mother giving a scolding pat. I scowled darkly at him. He returned my scowl with a flat stare. I gave him a terse nod. Finally, he released me, satisfied I wasn’t going to fall again.

My near-accident had pitched the Vorta into a nervous fit. Where my debate with Ramat’atlan had been silent, the Vorta were in a state of verbal apoplexy, berating and blaming themselves for what happened, gushing and fawning and babbling. I assured them both that I was fine, that no harm was done, and that no, there was absolutely no need for a doctor. After much bowing and scraping, and many more assurances from me, the Vorta finally calmed down.

To think I’d actually prefer being coddled by a Jem’Hadar.

Before I could do anything else to ruin everyone’s day, I suggested we leave the bridge, so we did. Kevaan, Ramat'atlan, and I boarded the lift, and Kevaan led us to the final part of our tour.

“Founder,” he said, as we traveled on the lift, “I was instructed to show anything you wanted to see on this ship and to give full disclosure when answering your questions. However, what you are about to see we would not normally show anyone. It is considered a secured area, its operation classified. It is a…sensitive area of the ship.”

“If you want me to sign a disclosure agreement or something, Kevaan, I can do that,” I quipped. “In fact, I could probably write it for you.”

“My apologies, Founder, I’m not being clear. You've been given full clearance by the Link to view anything you please. It is important to the Founders that they prove they will keep no secrets from you. But this area of the ship may be a bit…disconcerting. I want to be sure you are prepared.”

I frowned at that and felt a fearful tightening at the back of my neck. I almost told Kevaan never mind, I didn’t want to see it, whatever it was, but as usual, my curiosity was winning above my trepidation.

“I understand,” I replied. “I will still see it.”

Kevaan smiled, pleased, and said, “As you will it, Founder.”

The lift came to a halt. Kevaan, Ramat'atlan, and I stepped off into a darkened hallway. It was dimmer here than the rest of the ship, no helpful violet light this time. I followed Kevaan down the corridor. It was almost too dark for me to see. I kept my eyes on Kevaan’s back to keep my bearings, with Ramat'atlan bringing up the rear. It was also quiet here, almost no noise from the ship itself, but there was a deep, steady thrum pulsing though me, like the beating heart of a large and slumbering beast. It was felt more than heard. It wasn’t unpleasant.

Kevaan stopped at a set of large double doors. He looked up at me, his voice hushed, and said, “The Jem’Hadar barracks, Founder. Please allow me to pass first.”

I nodded and watched as he tapped some codes into the door panel. There was still no sound in this dark, deep corridor, just that steady heartbeat. I never thought of soldiers’ barracks as being a quiet place. It felt more like we were touring a tomb. And when the doors opened, I understood why.

Kevaan entered the room first and took an assessing look around, then stepped aside to let me see. The room was still too dark for my human eyes. I couldn’t get the full depth of it or enough of the finer details, but it didn’t matter. The source of that beating heart was illuminating all I needed to see.

At the center of the room was a tall column of pulsing, violet light, caged inside metal and glass. It went from floor to ceiling. It was a massive power conduit, I realized, noting the thick, black cables that radiated from it, feeding several long, metal tubes that stood vertically in endless rows. I crept forward, my eyes beginning to adjust to the contrast, trying to discern what those tubes were for. They were tall enough and large enough around to fit a person. A big person. And there seemed to be an infinite number of them.

I took a step back and bumped into Ramat'atlan. I had forgotten he was still behind me, and I jumped. He stared down at me and nodded, once, and then tilted his head at the rows of tubes. It seemed he was encouraging me to go forward and inspect them, but I wasn't anywhere near that comfortable at the moment.

I turned to Kevaan. “What am I looking at?”

“These are your reserve Jem’Hadar troops, Founder. They are in stasis, but when your order is given, they will awake. They will be battle-ready within seconds.”

My jaw dropped. "Battle troops!?" _What_ _the_ _hell?_   "How many are there?”

“Four hundred, Founder.”

I stared dumbly at him. Four hundred reserve troops? At my command? “Kevaan,” I sputtered, “what… _Why?_ ”

“As I said, we’ve had unrest in the Dominion. We thought it best to be prepared for all contingencies.”

Prepared, indeed. My eyes swept the rows of stasis tubes, trying to see to the back of the room. I still couldn’t find it. With this ship and these soldiers, I could start my own war if I wanted to. The idea of that much power in my hands made them shake.

“Kevaan, if we ran into to trouble, I would have no idea what to do with an entire company of Jem’Hadar! I’m no military officer.”

“We are aware, Founder. There's no need for you to concern yourself with such matters. There is another chamber where the rest of your Vorta slumber. Among them, you have a battle tactician and four troop commanders. Your personal physician sleeps there, as well.”

_Quiz time, Adassa! What gift does a galactic overlord absentee father give to spoil his only child? Why, a Jem’Hadar playset, of course, complete with Vorta facilitators!_

That irreverent thought triggered a nervous, incredulous giggle, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. Laughter slipped through my fingers and echoed through the cavernous chamber, mocking back at me. What in the world had I gotten myself into?

I dropped my hand and staggered forward to look closer at one of the tubes. Through the glass, I could make out the sleeping Jem’Hadar soldier within, tall, scaled, and terrifying. Uniformed and armed. At a word, ready to kill.

For me.

My hand flew up to clutch my pendant and squeezed it tight. The ever-present, subtle warmth of the stone seeped through to my chill-numbed fingers. It brought me back to myself, and I shook off my nerves.

My father had definitely pulled out all the stops to bring me back to him, and I decided it was time I stopped gaping and wondering at his largess and got some information. It was time to stop guessing at what I’d gotten into, and simply put, find out for myself.

“I've seen enough, Kevaan. Take me back to quarters, please. I want to use the computer, and I’ll need your help.”

“As you will it, Founder,” he said, and led the way.

 

 


	3. Dead Ends

 

The Dominion is old. It is far older than the Federation. The Dominion was already an organized force dominating its corner of the universe before the Vulcans had achieved warp drive. The territory the Dominion has amassed is vast and deep, and strictly monitored. No major insurrection has occurred over the centuries, but also, no major social change has either, which means that Dominion advancements in technology and other developments have been held back in the Gamma Quadrant. No one ever does anything without the Link’s approval, for fear of what their overlords might do if they found out. Therefore, innovation has been historically stalled in the Gamma Quadrant, explaining why their technology is only moderately superior to the Alpha Quadrant despite their advanced years. After all, a totalitarian regime is not exactly conducive to creativity.

And here I was in the middle of Dominion territory on one of their ships, the first Alpha Quadrant citizen to be this far in since my mother made this trip, and on my way to meet those very same Changeling overlords. Because they are my family. The thought was not a comforting one.

Beyond these simple facts, we in the Alpha Quadrant have remained ignorant about the Dominion. The armistice saw to that. Even the people of Earth, with their constant need to poke around in places where they don’t belong, have not tested their luck beyond the boundaries. One war with the Dominion was enough. I now had the opportunity, however, with the assistance of my new attaché, to break through that wall. I could finally get an unadulterated peek at the real Dominion, and I wasn’t wasting the opportunity.

As I got further away from those entombed soldiers, my unease lifted. When my escorts and I arrived at me quarters, Ramat'atlan stayed at my door, and Kevaan and I went inside. I was surprised to find I’d worked up an appetite. I went to the replicator and ordered a serving of  _hasparat_  and a mug of black  _raktijino_ , pleased to see the familiar recipes from my side of the galaxy in the data banks. It was a taste of home that I needed. Kevaan turned down an offer of refreshment, saying the Vorta rarely ate, but thanking me for my consideration. He found a computer interface for me and brought it to the dining table. I took a seat with my small meal and got to work.

As a lawyer, I’m always busy. I do a lot of this from my home—talking, eating, working—all at the same time, usually with Odessa running circles around me as I do it. With so much of the new and unfamiliar surrounding me, it was comforting to sit down and set myself a task, but I wished again that my daughter was here. I missed the patter of her little feet, the bounce of her auburn curls, and the chatter of her child’s logic filling my ear as she tried to distract me from my work. She never did, though. Doing so many things at once actually sharpened my wits instead of dulled them. I had the mischievous thought that I could ask Kevaan to take her place and do his best impersonation of a five-year-old to inspire me, but quickly dropped it. I was sobered by the idea that though such a request would be downright silly to ask of a grown man, Kevaan was likely to accede to it.

As I nibbled a corner of my  _hasparat_ , Kevaan woke up the interface. He turned it back to me so I could see the screen. It was touch or voice command, much like any other interface I’d used. I decided on voice so I could keep eating. Question was, what did I want to know first?

“Computer,” I said around a mouthful, “show me a list of star systems currently occupied by the Dominion.”

The computer worked, and after a few moments pulled up my request. The list was huge, far too long for me to go through, but I noted a convenient summary on the corner of the screen. Two hundred forty-five separate star systems, it said. Incredible. The Dominion was indeed vast. How did the Dominion keep such tight control over so many planets?

“Computer, re-list by systems reporting recent insurgencies.” The list reduced to seventy-three. A hefty number. “Re-list by those still in active conflict with the Dominion.”

The list dropped to twelve planets, still a lot for one organization to manage. Given how the Dominion traditionally dealt with its social problems, there had to have been massive casualties involved. I turned to Kevaan. “How have these insurgencies been handled?”

Kevaan, apparently, could read my mind. “As non-violently as possible, Founder. Your father has overseen the resolution of most of these conflicts himself as he feels partially responsible for them, but he would not allow the use of force during any conflict. He insists on finding a diplomatic resolution.These matters, therefore, have occupied much of his time.”

I frowned, thinking over Kevaan's words. Why would my father feel responsible for these insurgencies? Surely, with two hundred forty-five star systems to manage, rebellion couldn’t be so rare an occurrence in the Dominion.

“Computer,” I said, “list all star systems in conflict with the Dominion prior to the Federation year 2375.”

There were a whopping four insurgencies in Dominion history prior to 2375. And they happened decades apart. Apparently my father’s return to Link had started something. I dropped my half-finished  _hasparat_  on my plate, my appetite gone.

“Kevaan, what happened after my father came here?”

“There was…unease in the Dominon at first," Kevaan began. "After the war, word quickly spread that we had ceased fire first, that we had surrendered. It sewed seeds of doubt about the Dominion's power throughout the quadrant. There was also little leadership from the Great Link in the five years following your father’s return. The Founders would not speak to us, no matter how much we begged. We Vorta did our best to maintain order, but without direct word from the Link, we were unable to maintain it for long. The Jem’Hadar were becoming suspicious, thinking your father had done something to harm the Link, or that the cure he’d delivered had somehow failed. They were less willing to follow our orders without the occasional word of a Founder to back them, and those star systems who would oppose us or had grievances among themselves sensed their opportunity. There was fighting, and death. The Dominion knew disharmony for the first time in centuries. Had not Weyoun recognized our predicament, and gone to the Great Link in person to plead for guidance, I shudder to think what might've came out of our situation.”

I shuddered, as well. I was also glad Weyoun had stepped up and gotten the Link's attention. Embittered, godless Jem’Hadar running amok were bad for all concerned.

“Your father,” Kevaan continued, “was the one to answer us. He took over, guiding us. For some time, he has been the only Founder to do so. We see no longer see the other Founders.”

His tone saddened on that last statement, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. “And the Jem’Hadar were content with that? With only my father speaking, and not the rest?”

“Yes, Founder. As long as some connection is maintained to our gods, the Jem'Hadar are placated.” Kevaan's frown transformed into a wry grin. “And your father can be a most convincing god when he wants to be.”

“Do you…Do you know him, Kevaan? Personally?”

“How can one claim to know a god personally? But I have traveled with him, and I have been honored to serve him on several missions.”

I took a sip of  _raktijino_ , hiding a sudden leap of mixed emotions over the chance to get some first-hand knowledge about my father. I'd been on this ship for the better part of two days, and I hadn't ever thought to ask Kevaan if knew my father. I felt a little silly for having not thought of it sooner.

“What’s he like?” I asked softly.

A small smile lifted the corners of Kevaan’s mouth as he spoke. “He is…different. Not what we’re accustomed to. But his differences are… _enlightening_. He speaks with the Vorta, talks to us more than any of the other Founders have done, and listens to our ideas. He spends far more time in solid form dealing with solid matters than any Founder before him. He’s had to, with all the unrest and the Link keeping its silence. Your father is a just and fair commander, both merciless and merciful, and has a decidedly less violent bent in how he rules. He’s become at ease in his role here, and we have prospered. I am proud to serve him…” Kevaan’s smile faded. “Though at times, I do worry for him. Always in your father, there is a deep and abiding sadness. A heavy grief. He never speaks of it, of course, or deliberately shows it, but after spending so much time in his presence, I can sense it. It seems at times as if he longs-"

Kevaan cut himself off and looked down at his hands, contrite. “I'm sorry, I speak too freely. It is not my place to speak of these matters, or to presume to know the mind of a Founder.”

I wanted to know more, but didn’t want to press Kevaan and make him uncomfortable, so I turned back to the computer. “Are there any personal logs?”

“No, Founder. We have no need.”

Of course not, I thought, rolling my eyes at my own silly question. Why would genetically engineered servants keep personal logs? And a Founder wouldn’t need them, that’s what the Link was for. I searched for military records from some of the insurgencies instead, thinking to find something authored by my father. Maybe I would find some insight there. I expected to be locked out of such high-level information, but to my surprise, the files opened at a single touch from me.

“Full disclosure, as I said,” Kevaan smiled, reading my mind again. He pointed out an index code on the screen. “This serial designation is your father’s.”

I resorted the file list. There were hundreds of entries signed by my father, and I thought I’d finally found something useful, but the reports turned out to be completely technical. There was no individuality in them at all. No opinions or projections, no personal observations. It was all data and numbers and statistics that had no meaning for me. It was all order and functionality with Dominion record-keeping. All cold and impersonal. I shivered and rubbed my arms. I hoped that didn’t reflect on the man I was going to meet.  

Kevaan stayed with me well into the evening helping me with more computer searches and filling me in on other generalities about the Dominion and how it operated. He waxed poetic about the complicated, interdependent dynamic of the holy trinity of the Gamma Quadrant—Founder, Vorta, and Jem’Hadar. Through his eyes, I started to understand the religious overtones of their relationship more deeply, though I still couldn’t condone it. How much of a god could one be if one created not original life, but only built upon what was already existing? To me, the genetic manipulation of the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar sounded more like the Changelings were playing gods rather than actually being gods.

Not that humanoids hadn't had this problem themselves from time to time.

In the end, I concluded the Dominion functioned not unlike the Federation as far as the average planet was concerned. Needs were met, aid was given, borders were respected and protected, and all citizens were afforded the same rights regardless of species or place of origin. The key difference, however, was in the consequences of saying 'no thank you' to all this protection and assistance. The Federation was quite more accepting of rejection than was the Dominion. Refusal to join the cause in the Alpha Quadrant didn’t end in total annihilation of a species. However, Kevaan assured me that my father had seen an end to that kind of policy, too. Thanks to him, the Dominion was finally learning to use its inside voice in matters of interplanetary diplomacy.

I asked about these political changes my father had brought about and how they were affecting the quadrant, and what Kevaan felt it meant for the future of the Dominion. According to Kevaan, and judging by the proud smile on his face, everything my father had done since his return was creating a Dominion that was stronger than ever. Their future was assured. For the Gamma Quadrant, everything was coming up  _rovias_.

Eventually, I got tired of trying to look for meaning in statistics and second-hand information and decided I’d heard enough. I learned what I needed to know. Sometime tomorrow, we would arrive at Aria. The rest of my questions could be asked directly of the one who had the most to answer for.

I dismissed Kevaan with my thanks and prepared myself for bed. It was a little early yet, but lack of sleep had caught up with me. I settled under the blankets in my lonely bed. My eyes drifted closed as soon as my head hit the pillow. My brain kept running, though. It spun a repeating loop of all I had seen this day, all I had learned. The unrest in the Dominion was not unusual given the circumstances, and overall, the Dominion still ran like the well-built machine it always had been. According to Kevaan, that was because of my father, and indeed, he had been kept busy. It did occur to me that much of this might be why my father had never managed to make the trip back to my side of the wormhole.

As I drifted off into a deep sleep, one final thought drifted through my head. Although I could understand my father’s absence in my life more clearly now, it still didn’t mean I forgave him for it.

 

 


	4. Clarity

It was on the evening of the third day that we finally arrived at Aria.

I had slept better the night before, and I awoke early, refreshed and ready. By the time Kevaan showed up to inform me of our time table, I was dressed and fed, and already seated in front of the computer. I had brought a data pad with me and wanted to be sure it was charged as I planned on bringing it with me to Aria. The pad was loaded with images from home that I thought might be good ice-breakers if conversation with my father lagged. Based on the number of questions I had for my father, there probably wouldn't be a lag, but I wanted to have a back-up plan. Also, I am a mother, and I have never met a mother who traveled without pictures of her children she could show off. 

As the pad charged, I made small talk with Kevaan. I kept him talking long enough for my stomach to rumble again, reminding me that somewhere in the universe, it was lunch hour. Kevaan kept me company as I ate, again refusing refreshment for himself.

After my meal, we took a long walk through the empty habitat section. First Ramat'atlan took in his usual place two steps behind us. As we walked, I kept Kevaan talking, plying him with even more questions. I avoided talking about the Changelings as much as I could and focused my queries on the cultural and social aspects of the Dominion. Seeing as how there were two hundred forty-five occupied systems in their shadow, we had plenty of material.

The more I talked with Kevaan, the more I got beneath all the spit and polish the Dominion had shined him up with. I liked what I found. Kevaan took much pride in his service to the Founders, so he was predictably stuffed full of Dominon rhetoric, yet he was still humble and grounded in his views. Kevaan did his homework, too. He had much information on the doings of the people sheltered by the Dominion, and his opinions seemed to be his own, not just things he was taught to say. The more time I spent with him, the more I was beginning to appreciate the Vorta as a being unto himself, and not just a companion my father had selected for me.

All of this—the talking, the questions, the constant need to be engaged—was nothing but a contrivance on my part to distract me from my own emotions. In a matter of hours, I would have a life-long wish fulfilled, and instead of being filled with excitement or elation, I was terrified. I don't think I've ever been so nervous about anything in my life, but outwardly, I didn't show it. I was always good at putting on a fair face when under pressure. Kevaan the mind-reader had picked up on it anyway. Kevaan's patience with me, his sensitivity, and his understanding of the feelings I never expressed were boundless. Truly, I was beginning to grow fond of him.

Eventually, we ran out of hallway and ended up back at my quarters. I'd also finally run out of questions. Any questions I still had could only be answered by my father. I decided to let Kevaan off the hook and dismissed him. Even he had to have grown tired of me by that point. I also wanted some time alone to refresh and recharge before we arrived at our destination, so I lay down on the sofa to rest. I closed my eyes but didn't let myself sleep. I wanted my wits about me on this important day. 

Two hours later, Kevaan was shaking my shoulder to wake me. "It is time, Founder," he said, his tone as gentle as his smile. "We have arrived at Aria. We will transport you to the surface as soon as you are ready."

Oh, Prophets, we had finally arrived! And I'd nearly slept through it! I shot up off the sofa, fully awake and fully mad at myself for falling asleep. I thought I must look a wreck. I felt like one. I dashed to the bathroom to check my appearance. It wasn't too bad, actually. A touch-up with a hairbrush and some smoothing of my clothes had me back in order.

I hasted back to the living area, snatched the data pad from the table where I'd left it, and tucked it in my tunic pocket. "I'm ready," I said.

"Very good, Founder," Kevaan replied. He activated his comm badge. "Mura, you may commence."

Before I could say anything else, the transporter had me. My body and my voice froze as the transport process started. Kevaan's face faded as my molecules started to disassemble and disappear. There was the familiar fade to black, the horrible, odd sensation of my body being yanked too hard through a space that was too tight, the terrible squeeze of my cells coming back into form, of electric jolts coursing through my limbs, of pressure, of heat, and then...it was over. I was on Aria.

The transporter had set me on solid, stable ground, but that was all I noticed. I was too busy trying not to throw up. It seemed Dominion transporter technology didn't agree with me any more than Starfleet's did. I took deep, cleansing breaths until the nausea passed. When I felt mostly solid again, I assessed my new surroundings. The sky was the first thing I noticed. The light of Aria was low and warm, gold and pink, a sunrise glow that burnished the clouds with brilliant hues. Or maybe it was sunset here. I had no idea how to tell time on this far-away world.

I took my eyes off the clouds and discovered I had been set on a small island. It was surrounded by a calm, amber sea, the waves rolling gently in an endless shimmering of bronzed valleys and gilded heights. It was the Great Link I was looking at of course, not a sea, but I still found it quite beautiful. After everything I’d heard, I hadn’t expected the Great Link to be so beautiful.

I took my eyes off that beguiling sea and tried to learn more about the island. Under my feet, the buff-colored soil was more dry dirt than sand, little puffs of dust rising as I moved. Black, weather-pocked rocks rose up from the ground in places, the largest formation at my back. I turned in a slow circle to mark the boundaries of the island and get an idea of size. The surface area of this island couldn't be much bigger than my house. And that was all there was to this place, rocks and dirt. No greenery or wildlife to be seen, not even an insect. There was nothing else on this tiny island to report. It was a lonely place.

My mother, I realized, would have once stood before the Great Link on this small island, just as I was now. She had been on this same desolate, dusty rock as she watched my father disappear into the Link and take her heart with him. I could be standing in the exact same place where my mother faced her greatest pain, alone.

The thought made me shudder and I felt even more isolated. I had the urge to call out to someone, anyone, but I refrained. Standing in the ancient presence of the Great Link made the idea seem irreverent, like yelling out in the middle of prayer service. Instead, I shielded my eyes and looked out once more, straining my vision to look as far as I could to the horizon. There was still nothing but that infinite, golden sea.

A sea that was not a sea, I reminded myself.

Someone, I figured, would be along to find me eventually. I was, after all, expected, so I just needed to stay patient. I tucked my hands in my tunic pockets, took a deep breath of fresh air, and waited.

The temperature on Aria was pleasant. A gentle breeze picked up my long, blonde hair, and I turned my face into its temperate warmth. The gentle waves sighed a soothing rhythm as they touched the shore. I watched from a few meters away as they ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed. As they rolled over each other in shimmering amber and burnt orange and dull gold. As I watched those gentle waves, I became hypnotized by their ancient rhythm, by their soft sounds, by the many colors hidden inside of them. The susurrus of the waves was not just noise, it was words. The waves were speaking to me. _Come, child, come to us. Come home._ And I wanted, oh I wanted to listen to those voices, to be with them, hadn’t I wanted this all of my life? And I could be with them. I was here, I was home.

I staggered forward and my body began readying itself for something, I don’t know what, a tingle, a burn in my limbs that seemed to want to change somehow, to let go of this form and forget everything, forget Adassa, she was no one and her cares were nothing. I could fall into the sea and l could let it all go, I could be home I could be one I—

A hand gripped my shoulder. The call from the waves fell silent, and the haze in my mind cleared. Where was I?

I looked down. My booted foot was hovering only centimeters above the wave break. When had I walked so close to the shore? What was I doing here, with one foot nearly sank into the Great Link itself? I realized what I’d almost done, what those voices had wanted me to do, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, tears stinging my eyes. I had been so ready to step out of myself, oh so willing to let it happen. What was I _thinking?_

The hand on my shoulder tightened, a reassuring grip that anchored me to the now. I took a steadying breath and lowered my foot back to the dirt.

“Adassa? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I…” My words trailed off. I swung around to face my savior, and I knew him.

“F-Father?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “Welcome home, Adassa.”

I couldn’t speak, I could only stare. Yes, I knew this face. It was the same face that had scowled at me from the holo-image in my father’s militia file, a thumb-nail photo I had studied and studied when I was a child, trying to find myself in his image, to see him in my own image. Beyond my hair, I never could see it.

His Bajorn militia uniform was gone, I noted. My father wore a dark gray tunic and trousers instead, of no culture I could name, no insignia or markings, but the high collar, the boots, the severity of style universally bespoke soldier. Officer. Protector.

“Let’s get away from the shore,” he said. “It will be easier for you if we create some distance.”

A memory I didn’t know I had flashed through my mind. _Blue, blue eyes, and laughing. Hands pick me up and up, and lift me to the sky so I can be the bird. It’s so high and I’m so scared, but I laugh because I love it. Papa won’t let me fall, he’d never let me fall…_

I shook my head, clearing it. Mute, I followed my father back up the dusty dunes and to the rocks where we found a suitable place to sit. I dropped down too hard on the unforgiving surface, but barely registered the sting in my backside. I was too preoccupied. I watched my father as he sat down next to me, watched how he folded his longs limbs, how he managed his tall form with easy grace. It was all very familiar. Maybe there was more than my hair that we had in common.

“Are you better now?” he asked, concern knitting his brow.

“Yes,” I answered, and it was mostly true. My shock over my foolishness was wearing off, but the shock of meeting my father still hadn’t passed. “I’ll be fine…I think.”

He smiled, and said, “You will be fine, in time. The first time I saw our people, it was much the same for me.”

Our people, he'd said. Was I his people? How could I be? I was humanoid, solid, flesh and blood, not liquid amber, so how could the Link have any effect on me at all? And that was just one of the many questions I had for my father. There was so much I wanted to ask him, things I had poured over in my mind for years in a constant litany of whys and whos and hows, and now that I was finally here, now that I finally had my chance to get some answers, I didn't seem to be able to ask him for a single one.

My father sensed my distress and gave me an out, starting with some small talk. “How was your journey?” he began.

“Smooth,” I answered. “No trouble, though I was told to expect some.”

“It wasn’t likely, but it was still possible," he replied. "There's been unrest in the quadrant, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“So I heard. I studied on my way here. Kevaan was very helpful.”

My father smiled warmly at the mention of Kevaan. “I thought he would be. Any trouble with the guard?”

“No,” I replied. “First Ramat’atlan was also very helpful though I do have to ask. Why the four hundred extras?”

“If you studied, then you already know the answer.”

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, but why so many? What did you think could possibly happen to me?”

“Anything. Everything.” He shrugged. “I worry. I wanted to be sure you had every possible protection. Space is dangerous.” He turned to me and grinned. “Besides, if I ever let anything happen to you, your mother would come charging through the wormhole with a war fleet.”

I looked at him levelly. “You’re right about that.”

He shared my look for a moment, and then we both broke into gentle laughter, some of the awkward tension between us melting. Our laughter soon faded, and my father's smile faded with it.

“How…is your mother?”

“Well,” I replied. “Retired now, but well.”

My father gave a doubtful scoff. “Retired and Kira Nerys are not two things I can put together. I never thought she’d give up her career.”

“She had strong motivation,” I said. “DS9 as you knew it was decommissioned, and she was tired, she said, of being Starfleet’s puppet. She also has a granddaughter now who she very much dotes on, all very compelling reasons to leave a soldier’s life behind, and return to Bajor.”

“Your mother won’t stay still for long," my father said.

“I know,” I replied. “There’s already talk of her getting into politics. Not from her of course, from others. But for now, she’s content.”

My father turned his blue gaze away from me, looking out over the Changeling sea. “A granddaughter,” he mused. “I’m sure that made Nerys very happy.”

Studying my father’s profile, I was reminded of what Kevaan had said about the sadness he sensed in my father. I saw it, too, then, and like Kevaan, I sensed it was deep. “Your granddaughter, also,” I said. “Would you like to see her?”

He turned back to me expectantly. I pulled the data pad out of my tunic pocket and turned it on. I found a recent image of Odessa, one of my new favorites, taken on her first day of school. I turned the pad and showed it to him.

My father took the data pad from me, grinning. “She looks just like your mother.”

“She does,” I smiled. “Acts just like her, too. Odessa is a handful, more than I ever was. Apparently, the Kira genes skip a generation.”

“Then you and your husband have your work cut out for you.” He shot me a warning look. “Be prepared.”

“Oh, I am,” I grinned, “don’t worry.”

I scooted closer so I could show my father the rest of the images. I narrated for him as I flipped the screen. There were pictures from my wedding day, my graduation from law school, of my husband and me, and several more of Odessa. I also had new images of the old friends that my father would have known from his DS9 days. We spent some time talking about them, about what they were up to and how their lives had progressed. My father actually knew much of it, and it surprised me. He explained he had kept tabs on our doings as much as he could through the years, though the information was passed to him second hand and wasn’t always reliable.

We arrived at a picture of Uncle Julian, beaming warmly at the camera, brown eyes brimming with his special brand of mirth. I smiled back at him over my father’s shoulder.

“If it wasn’t for Dr. Bashir,” my father said, “none of us would be here, you know. He was the real hero of the war. He deserved a much longer life than fate gave him.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“He was the one to find the cure for the virus, and he put his life in danger to get it. If not for Julian and Miles, I would’ve died on DS9, and the Link would’ve died, too. Who knows what would have happened then? We all of us, on both sides of the wormhole, owe Dr. Julian Bashir our existence.”

I was so used to hearing my father touted as the hero of the day that I’d never thought about it like that before, but, my father was right. It really was Uncle Julian who had made it all possible, though he'd never made much of it. My heart ached anew at his loss, at the way he’d died, struck down on a war-torn planet that had begged his aid. Julian Bashir had died as he had lived, playing medical hero then, too.

If I left that image of Uncle Julian up much longer, I was going to break down. I hastily flipped the screen. It rolled over to one last image, one I hadn’t meant to download. I had promised my mother I would leave her out of this as much as possible, and I had every intention of doing so, but there she was on the screen in my father’s hands, and now there was no help for it.

This image of my mother was another one of my favorites. I’d taken it during a recent family outing to the Kren’nal Hills. My mother was wearing a white summer dress, seated on a blue picnic blanket, the grass an emerald field around her. The afternoon sun brightly lit her features as she smiled a full Kira Nerys smile at the camera.

My father was silent as he looked on my mother’s image, his expressions shifting faster than I could read them. One finger traced the line of her jaw gently.

“Still so beautiful,” he murmured.

His tone, his look, squeezed my heart and sudden tears pricked my eyes. Only a man very much in love could wear a look like that, could sound like that, and I finally remembered one of those questions that had been on my long list. I wondered what everyone else had wondered for years. If my father had loved my mother so much, if he loved her this much still, how could he have left her?

And me.

My father tore his gaze from the pad. He wouldn’t look at me, either. “Put it away,” he said, blindly shoving the pad at me. _“Please.”_

I took the pad from him and tucked it in my tunic pocket. The silence stretched between us again, my father still turned away from me. Our earlier awkwardness was coming back in full force. I broke the silence before it could get any worse, before I lost my nerve.

“Father,” I asked. “Why? Why did you go?”

“Adassa, I had to. The armistice—“

“—No, Father,” I interrupted. “Not that, I know about that. Why did you stay gone? At any time, you could’ve come back for her. For me.”

He didn’t answer at first. He was hunched with his elbows on his knees, hands folded between them, looking at the dirt between his boots. He was quiet for so long, I thought he might never answer. Finally, he straightened and turned to me. His gaze was filled with pain.

“I never wanted to leave you and your mother, Adassa, but I had no choice. You have to know that.”

Seeing the old, unresolved pain in my father's eyes woke my own. How _could_  I know that, I thought, frowning. There was no proof of that. He’d been gone for thirty years, with no word since. His actions didn't match his words.

“That’s not an answer,” I replied.

“But it is the truth,” he returned, “and you deserve the truth.” He heaved a long sigh. “And I suppose I should give you all of it, even if it colors what you think of me.”

“Works for me,” I retorted, then winced. I sounded just like my mother.

“Before I met your mother and fell in love with her,” my father began, “I wanted to be here. With the Link. That feeling followed me for years, a pull, a longing I had no words for that started the second I woke up in the lab. That feeling you felt by the shore for only a few minutes I lived with for every waking second, for years. I knew I needed to go home, but for the longest time, I didn’t even know where home was. It only got worse after I discovered the truth of what I am, after the first time I met my people. The only time I ever got any peace from these feelings was when I was with Nerys, and then when you came, with you. I held you in my arms seconds after you were born, Adassa. The power of that, the incredible wonder of holding a new life that I had helped make was almost enough to make me forget the Link, but not quite…Not quite…I am not humanoid, Adassa, and I am not supposed to live as one.”

“I see,” I sniffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “So it was all about you.”

“In part,” he confessed, "though I loved your mother enough that I would've lived with my pain, would've struggled through it to stay with her. But after you were born, my thinking changed. It occurred to me that you would likely have children, and that those children might have children, and so on, and at what point would I end it? At what point would I be able to walk away and return to the Link and say enough is enough? I could see the generations stretching out before me, and I knew if I stayed, I’d be condemning myself to an eternity of suffering. I did consider curing the Link and then returning to the Alpha Quadrant to stay at least through you and your mother’s lifespans. After all, the armistice never said I had to stay here, just that I had to go. But there were other things that convinced me to stay. That brought me clarity.”

“What other things?” I asked.

“The conspiracy behind the Changeling virus, for one,” he replied. “You are familiar with the history of the virus, of its origins?”

I was. Thanks again to family connection, I was privy to more information than what the public knew about the virus Section 31 created to destroy the Great Link. I told my father as much.

“There came a point, Adassa, where it all fell into place for me, when I finally saw Starfleet’s hidden underbelly, and it helped me make the decision to stop living a solid life. Sloan tried to fall on his sword and claim full responsibility, but one man couldn’t have designed this virus on his own. He would have needed a team of scientists, a fully equipped lab, and a secure base of operations to have orchestrated a project of this magnitude."

“But Father, surely you don’t hold all of Starfleet responsible for the actions of Luther Sloan? He was one extremist. Even if he did have help, you can’t blame everyone for what he did.”

“I don’t,” he replied. “Not exactly. But this isn’t about blame. This is about trust. I lost all trust for the Federation, what little of it I had, when I learned what was done to me. As I said, Sloan couldn’t have accomplished any of this on his own. The virus would have to have been created in just one year, between the first time I met my people and the mission that took me to Earth. One year is a very short amount of time to create a genocidal weapon for an unknown race all by yourself. I know Sloan had help and it came from somewhere high up in Starfleet, because only the highest ranking officials had access to Dr. Mora's research. Are you starting to see?”

I had been told my father was a good investigator in his day. Listening as he put the pieces together for me—pieces that had been in my hands for years, but that I hadn't fit together like this before—I saw that reputation was deserved.

“Prophets, it really was a conspiracy, wasn’t it?” I said. “How long did it take you to see it?”

“Oh, about half an hour,” he replied. “I mused it all through from my deathbed after Julian told me Section 31 was involved. But in the beginning, after I was cured and we had the full story, my musings were only suspicions. They were confirmed when Captain Sisko told me Starfleet had decided to withhold the cure from the Link. Starfleet denied having a hand in Sloan’s dirty deeds, but they were content to reap the benefits. It was then that all the pieces slipped into place. I had been betrayed by the people I had given up everything to protect. By the solids. Even if it was as Sloan said, that the virus was never intended to hurt me, just my people, the end is the same. They used me to commit genocide, and it was condoned by Starfleet, the supposed side of right, and the paranoia my people had expressed about the solids suddenly wasn’t so unwarranted. And at that moment, when all of that hit home, I realized that I could no longer stay in the Alpha Quadrant. I didn’t belong there, no matter what I was leaving behind.”

What he left behind was me and my mother. His answer still wasn’t enough to explain his actions. This was all politics, not family business. “You said things, Father. More than one reason. What else?”

“The war, Adassa, was a dark time. Very dark. So much death. Though I just vilified Starfleet and the Federation, I resented our people just as much for what they’d done. They were the ones who had started it all, not the Alpha Quadrant, and it was up to me to help the Founders see how wrong they were. I’m _still_ trying to make them see. I also knew there would be little tolerance for Changelings in the Alpha Quadrant after the war. My presence could've put you and your mother in danger. Prophets know, my life was threatened often enough for being what I am. Your mother’s, too, on occasion, for associating with me, and that was before we even met the Dominion. I needed to separate myself from your lives—be completely absent from them—so you would both be safe.”

I couldn’t help but ask the obvious. “Why didn’t you just take us with you to the Gamma Quadrant?”

“And take you from one danger to another? Adassa, I had no idea what was on this side of the wormhole, no idea what the Link would do with me when I got here. If they decided to kill me instead of keep me, who would look after you? At the time, the idea of leaving my wife and child to mercies of the Jem’Hadar was unthinkable. You were better off where you were, without me, and besides, your mother had a life of her own. I don’t think she would’ve ever left Bajor, not even for me.”

“Did you ever ask her?”

“No,” he admitted. “I made the decision without her. I truly did have to leave the Alpha Quadrant to keep the peace, and I didn’t want to hurt Nerys more than I had already. I didn’t want to force her to choose. It was all for the best, and your mother was never very good at knowing what was best for her.” He smiled ruefully. “That’s what she had me for.”

My father’s logic was so sound, but hearing his reasoning laid out so plainly still hurt, and it all seemed awfully heavy-handed on his part. Had he thought even once about how my mother and I might feel about all these decisions he’d made for us? The thought woke up years of resentment that lay dormant within me. Tears threatened, and I bit my lip, looking away from him.

My father took my chin and gently turned me back to him. “None of this means that I have not thought about you and your mother every single day since we have been parted.” His thumb caught a stray tear on my cheek and wiped it away. “I love you both so much. I always will. And for a Changeling, always is truly forever.”

I have never been a crier, never been prone to showing my stronger emotions, but I did then. I let my tears flow freely in front of this stranger-father, tears both sad and angry.

“How can you say that when we never heard from you?” I said, my voice rising. “There were still ways you could've been part of our lives. You could’ve at least sent a transmission on my birthday or something. _Anything_ would have been better than this perpetual silence, for me, and for my mother. _Especially_ for my mother!” I paused and swiped at my nose, attempting to collect myself. It wasn't working. “Do you have _any_ idea how much you hurt her, Father? She is _still_ grieving! You ruined my mother’s life!”

My father flinched and covered his eyes. In my long-held anger, my words had hit their target, but I’d overshot. I had hurt him back, deeply, but I felt no satisfaction in it.

“I had hoped,” he said, his voice thick, “that she would move on. Find someone else. Find some lasting happiness for herself.”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, my anger flaring even hotter. “You know as well as I do that she had happiness. With you! And you took it from her, and now you tell me that you did it all without even giving her a choice? How do you know she wouldn’t have gone with you? How do you know she wouldn’t have made a life here? You don’t, because you didn’t ask and you left us, left _me_ to hold the candle for both of us, because even though my mother is _so strong,_ she still wasn’t quite strong enough to face your leaving her. To face the silence and the questions. To face even trying to allow herself that kind of happiness again, and risk losing it all. Again!” I flew up from my seat, fists clenched at my sides, and rounded on him. “In all her years of suffering and loss, it was you who levied the final blow! Father, do even understand what you did?”

He spread his hands in front of him, his temper catching up with mine. “As I said, Adassa, I didn’t know what it would be like here. I was right not to bring you and your mother with me, and I won’t apologize for that. My coming to Link brought strife. Change. Change they weren’t ready for, and even all these years later, even though I have spent all of my time since trying to rectify it, the Dominion is still not wholly stable. This was no place to raise a family. But if it helps, if it means anything, I have been filled with as much regret—with as much grief—as your mother has. But I needed to leave your mother alone if she was going to move on. I am so sorry, Adassa, but it had to be this way.”

I harrumphed and crossed my arms over my chest. “It is not _me_ you need to apologize to," I growled.

My father rose slowly and stood before me. “I think it is. I think you need to hear it even more than your mother does. I’m sorry I had to leave your mother, but I am even more sorry that I had to leave you. You’ve shouldered the burden for all of us, and you have been a good daughter to your mother. You have been strong for her, but from now on, I can help you. The _Rovia_ and everything about her was made for you. She’s yours. I’ve given you everything you need to be able to travel freely between the two quadrants, and I hope you’ll accept it. I can't leave the Gamma Quadrant, not yet, but I promise I will be there for you in every way I can. I want to be part of your life, if you’ll let me.” He cupped my face in his hands and smiled. “Adassa, you are the best of both of us, and I am so proud of you.”

How could hearing that simple phrase from someone I barely knew undo me so easily? How did he know how much I needed to hear it? My anger dissolved, and my resentment, and I started crying even harder. My father drew me in his embrace. He rocked me gently as I cried, shushing me, patting my back like I was a child. _His_ child.

My arms wound around him, holding him as tightly as he held me. As I rested my head on my father’s shoulder, realization dawned on me. It was the kind of clarity of mind that comes around so rarely in a lifetime, the kind of truth that feels like free-falling through an open chasm in your own heart. It wasn’t the Link I had been looking for all this time. It wasn’t the Changelings I was searching for, or for answers to my never-ending questions. It was this. This was the home I had been burning to find for the last thirty years.

As I embraced my father, a small knot of heat started growing at the center of my chest. It startled me, and I drew back. I grabbed the chain at my neck, pulling my necklace from under my tunic, holding it away from my body and out between us like it was a smoldering coal. The stone in my pendant was glowing, golden and bright, a ball of sunlight trapped in a bubble.

“Father, what—“

“Prophets, I had nearly forgotten about that. Here, let me.”

My father took the chain and pendant from me, the heat no trouble to him at all. He cupped his hands around the stone, golden light seeping through his closed fingers. It faded quickly. When he opened his hands, the amber gemstone was no more. Only the chain and pendant were left. 

No more amber. My tears started again. What had he done?

“Father, where’s the stone? Where did it go?”

“Back to where it came from.” He smiled. “For now.”

He handed the silver chain back to me. It was dull and empty now, nothing but brittle bones in my hand without the gemstone. I slunk, saddened, back to the rocks, dropping slowly to sit. My fist closed around the empty chain, and I brought it to my chest. My father had warned me all those years ago that he’d want his gift back, but I hadn’t been prepared to lose it so quickly. So abruptly. I sniffled again, stubbornly refusing to cry over it, and looked out at the Changeling sea, at the amber-gold infinity surrounding us. The same colors that were captured in my stone… 

_I’ll want this back…_

And then, I finally got it. “The stone,” I said, looking up at him. “It was you? All this time?”

“Yes,” he smiled and sat next to me.

_“How?”_

“The knowledge of the technology came to me during a mission before the end of the war, a small comment made to me by a Vorta. That Vorta died on our mission, but I convinced him to give me some leads to acquire the technology on my own, and I was successful. No one knew I had this, not even the Link. They had originally intended it for use in espionage. It can hold a Changeling in stasis indefinitely and won’t give it away to sensors.” He took the chain from me, and by some trick of his thumb, revealed a minuscule set of controls concealed in the bell cap. “The lock can be broken under certain conditions, freeing the Changeling from stasis. In the end, the Founders decided they weren’t comfortable with the idea and scrapped the project, but when I found out about it, I knew I needed to have it. At the time, I wasn’t sure why, but I’m glad I followed my instincts.”

He returned the chain to me, and I felt even more saddened than I had before. My father had given me a piece of himself, literally, a piece I had unknowingly carried with me for over half my life. He had never left me. And now I had lost him anew.

“Don’t worry, Adassa,” he soothed, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’ll make the stone again before you go. You are meant to have it, and there is a reason I gave it to you in the first place, a good reason. But you may reconsider wanting it back after you hear what it can do.”

I looked up, puzzled. “What’s that?”

His brow knitted as he studied my face. “I would appreciate it if you would keep what I’m about to tell you a secret,” he cautioned. “From everyone you know, even your family.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Are you familiar with the story of how I was restored to my true form?”

I was. Dr. Mora had been the one to tell me that story, about how he and my father had found one of the Hundred. It had sacrificed itself to give my father back his Changeling gifts.

“This necklace,” he said, “I left you as the only protection from harm or death that I could offer. I keyed the lock on the stasis field to your life signs. If they fail, the stone will go to its natural state and merge with your DNA, turning you into a Changeling.”

I made a sound of protest. “Nice of you to ask me about it first. What if I don’t want to be a Changeling?”

“Again, my decision, I know, but you were just a child at the time, and there was no chance to explain it all to your mother. Honestly, I was afraid she wouldn’t give it to you if she knew the truth. Besides, it was better kept a secret. The change will work just as effectively on someone who is not one of us—like you are—and I couldn’t risk its discovery. Couldn’t put you in that kind of danger. Do you have any idea what people would do to have that kind of power?”

I could only imagine, but I was starting to see the need for all this concealment. I would have been in great danger, indeed, if anyone knew about the secret that I had carried around my neck for all these years, even if only for the sake of revenge against the Link. My head was spinning with all that I had learned, all that I had heard, and the incredible gift my father had left me. I was again at a loss for words.

“You are—have always been—a child of two worlds,” my father began. “You have a unique gift, Adassa, in that you can choose which world you want to be in. It's a choice I was never given. A choice your mother was never given. We offer you the chance to join the Great Link. The DNA is there inside you already, and I admit its activation will not be pleasant, but in exchange you will be granted eternal life, the gift of being a Changeling, and it belongs to you in the first place. It is your birthright. The Link has agreed that you belong with us and that all of your descendants will be made the same offer. We want you to come home, Adassa.”

Unlike my father, I wasn’t so quick to leave my descendants behind. “I have a daughter, a husband, and what about my life on Bajor, my career, I can’t just—"

“There is nothing you have to decide today. You have your entire humanoid lifetime to decide. Time has no meaning to the Link, Adassa. We will wait. And we will be here when you make your choice. It is too late for your mother and I to be together, to have a life together, but it is not too late for us. If you join the Link, we will be family forever, as we were meant to be.”

“Well,” I said and laughed nervously. I had no idea how to answer him. “Are there any other family secrets I should know about before I decide? Any other life-changing offers you want to put on the table while I’m here?”

“Actually, yes,” he replied. He looked down at his feet, and then up at me, chagrined. “I need a lawyer. I heard you’re a pretty good one, and I’d like to hire you. How would you like to become the official legal counsel to a god?”

 

 


	5. Home

 

Naturally, I accepted my father’s offer. I would’ve been laughed out of practicing law if I hadn’t. Who wouldn’t want to be at the forefront of the reconciliation between the Gamma Quadrant and the Alpha Quadrant? Who wouldn’t want to be at the side of the Founders as they opened their borders and began negotiations, ushering in a new age of peace and prosperity? What intergalactic lawyer worth her salt would turn down the opportunity to be part of writing history? For that is exactly what my father had planned and the opportunity he was offering me. Professionally, this was the chance of a lifetime. I would’ve been a fool to say no.

The other part of my father’s offer I left open. The decision to join the Great Link was not so obvious a choice. Allowing them to change the very fiber of my being and alter my DNA, elevating me to a new plane of existence and granting me eternal life was clearly a decision that should not be made on a lark. However, that didn’t stop me from asking for my necklace back. I felt lost without it. I just had to hope that nothing happened to me that would activate the stone before I was ready to accept the consequences.

My father settled the chain around my neck. The amber stone was remade, as promised. As the pendant’s weight settled against my chest, I tried not to think about the secret it contained. I tried to pretend that small piece of amber around my neck was still nothing more than a gemstone, as I’d always believed it to be. However, now that I knew the truth, it was impossible to think of the stone in such simple terms. It was impossible to think about my life as a whole in such simple terms. Meeting my father had opened up an entirely new set of opportunities for me, things I had never considered in my wildest dreams, and I deeply felt the import of my father’s words. I could choose my future, choose my world. It was all in my hands. Or around my neck. Truly, I had a lot to think about.

I had a few stipulations before I agreed to work for my father. I laid them out, and he agreed to most of them, but we had some argument on a few points. However, I stood firm. After all, this was business. Family or no, my father would be dealt with the same as any other client when it came to my contract, which was quite standard and made no exorbitant demands. We went back and forth for a while, but I put my foot down and made it clear that I wouldn’t budge on any of it. If my father was to get what he wanted, he would have to give me what I wanted, or no deal.

My father threw his head back and actually laughed. “Adassa, you negotiate like a Ferengi," he said, "maybe better. You’re tough! Thank Quark for both of us the next time you see him.”

One primary stipulation, one my father hadn’t objected to at all, was that my acceptance was not guaranteed until I talked with my husband. Mi’kal’s wishes had to be included in my decision, especially since I planned on dragging his only daughter back and forth across an artificial rift in space-time, keeping company with folks that were considered to be just shy of hated enemies. However, there was no way I was leaving my daughter behind the next time I made the crossing. I had missed her too much, and judging by the plans my father had discussed with me, if I accepted his offer in full, I would be spending much time away from home. Mi’kal’s answer would likely be the same as it always was; do whatever brings me the most happiness. Still, his voice needed to be heard when it came to our family.

There was someone else back in the Alpha Quadrant with whom I needed to discuss this bright and shiny new future. No matter if my husband and I were in agreement, no matter how desperately I wanted this contract, if she didn’t like it, then all bets were off. I would agree to nothing my father offered without my mother’s approval.

From a broader standpoint, however, not even Kira Nerys could stand in the way of progress. My father said that no matter what I decided to do, he would follow through with his plans. In six months’ time, he would return to the Alpha Quadrant and offer his new peace treaty to the Federation in person. Despite all he’d said to me about the Federation, my father still had hope. He’d never lost it. Real and lasting peace—the kind of peace built on cooperation and trust, not the cold, silent state we’d all been locked in—had been my father’s wish since the first time he met the Great Link. Nearly forty years had passed since that fateful day, and my father figured he’d waited long enough. The time was now, or it would never come. My father would proceed with his grand plans for this new age of peace with or without me.

I told him that was fair enough.

After my father and I had settled our negotiations, and it was time for me to return home, it was with a heavy heart that I left him behind. I stayed long enough to see him change form and return to his people. I watched as his solid self melted into the immensity and ancient mystery of the Great Link. When the form of the being known as Odo was completely gone, when my father was once again one with the amber sea, I touched the stone resting on the center of my chest. I was looking for reassurance, I suppose, and I found it. I smiled to myself, and the weight on my heart lifted. I knew that no matter what else was decided when I got home, I would return to my father very soon. The long silence between us was over.

When I transported back aboard the  _Rovia_ , I arrived as I’d left, nauseous and retching. Kevaan was waiting for me. He actually scolded me for not telling him about my transporter sickness. He was quite upset that I would put myself through such discomfort when there was absolutely no need. After all, the  _Rovia_  boasted four shuttles, one of which surely could’ve been spared to collect me, if I’d had the foresight to ask.

I grinned as Kevaan scowled and scolded. It spoke well for our future. If all went as planned, Kevaan and I would be spending much time together. It was reassuring to hear his real voice finally coming though.

The  _Rovia_  sped us back to the Alpha Quadrant without incident. As soon as we docked at DS9, I received a transmission from my mother. She was at airlock five waiting with a shuttle, and would I hurry up and get there before anyone figured out she was on the station? She didn’t want to deal with crowds.

It wouldn’t do to keep the Admiral waiting, so I collected my things from my quarters and made ready to leave the  _Rovia_. Kevaan walked me to the ship’s airlock, where my escort guard was waiting. I again argued with Kevaan about the necessity of the Jem’Hadar. I wasn't going to make the same mistake twice and drag them around the station again. It was also contrary to my mother’s wish for secrecy. However, Kevaan was insistent and drove his point home in a way that I could not ignore.

“You have agreed to be a Founder in fact now, not just in title,” he told me. “You have agreed to represent the Dominion. You will stand at your father’s right hand doing his work, and you will receive the notice of many. In the role you've accepted, the guards will become a necessity, not just a precaution.”

I searched the grim, hardened faces of the Jem’Hadar guards waiting in formation at the airlock, and my stomach lurched. Kevaan was yet again absolutely correct. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could be seen in that light, and I felt foolish for not seeing it sooner. Hadn’t my people fought the Founders for years? Hadn’t every friend and family member that I had on the other side of the wormhole been affected by the violent, destructive Dominion War? It was insensitive of me not to have thought about it before, about how the greater public might feel. The Bajorans were long accustomed to being Federation citizens now, and it had changed them socially. They had become much more open-minded, but they still carried a deep sense of loyal pride in Bajor and its history. Bajorans were inherently patriots, and in the past, some had not dealt kindly with those they deemed collaborators. Not at all kindly.

A shadow of fear crossed my heart. Guilt-ridden panic accompanied it. I really hadn’t thought this through, had I? By accepting my father’s offer and becoming a representative of the Dominion, I could be putting my family in danger. Because of me, they could be hurt, or worse. At that moment, with that cold, shameful fear icing my insides, I understood my father’s reasons for leaving his family implicitly.

But, I reminded myself, this was a new time. This was a different age, and it was about to shift to yet another. All of us had learned from the Dominion War—the Bajorans, the Romulans, the Klingons, and the Federation. It wasn’t just the Changelings who had experienced upheaval in the years that followed, or that needed to face the flaws in their own society in order to heal. The Alpha Quadrant had learned from their mistakes, too, had grown and changed, and its citizens were more than ready for the next step. If I’d learned anything by being my mother’s daughter, it was that hate can’t be allowed to stop progress and that fear can’t be allowed to stop dreams. I wanted to make my father’s dreams happen, help him make lasting change, and my fear couldn’t be allowed to hinder his progress.

“Alright, Kevaan,” I said. I squared my shoulders and hitched the strap of my carryall higher. “I will allow an escort, but only you and First Ramat’atlan. The rest of the guards stay with the ship.”

Kevaan smiled, pleased, and said, “As you will it, Founder.”

The three of us progressed to the airlock where my mother’s shuttle was docked. I held tight to my stalwart attitude as we made our way through the station, keeping my head held high and plowing through as though I did this sort of thing every day. I was trying to personify my new role as a dignitary to the greatest of my abilities. Now that I’d accepted the idea of being a Dominion representative, it was up to me to convince everyone else to accept it. Kevaan was right. I had to get used to the idea of being in the spotlight, and I might as well start practicing now.

When we got to the airlock, however, all of my faked bravado left me. My mother was standing just outside the shuttle doors, waiting for me. She opened her arms as soon as she saw me. I grinned like an idiot, dropped my bags, and ran to her. We embraced, laughing and babbling and talking over each other. It was if we’d been separated for months, not days. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my mother until I saw her.

“My bean,” my mother crooned, rocking me. “I’m so glad you’re home safe.”

Her head tucked under my chin as she squeezed me even tighter, and I held back happy tears. I am at least a head taller than my mother, but in her arms, I always feel so small.

And so loved.

Eventually, my mother and I quit gushing and collected ourselves. We turned to Kevaan and First Ramat’atlan. I made the introductions. At the words “Admiral Kira Nerys” they both bowed low before my mother, holding their respectful stance for a marked amount of time.

“What’s that about?” my mother muttered.

“I’ll explain later,” I returned. I cleared my throat. Kevaan and the First rose. I hated long goodbyes, so I didn’t make them. “Kevaan, First Ramat’atlan, thank you for all you’ve done." I extended my hand. “Please give my thanks to Mura, as well.”

Kevaan returned my handshake awkwardly. “Founder, it is our pleasure to serve,” he said. He dropped my hand and gave me the Vorta traditional goodbye. He dipped his head, and said, “Until we meet again.”

I turned my gaze to First Ramat’atlan. He met it, held it for a long moment, and then spun smartly away from me on his booted heel. With that, my staff left the airlock and returned to the  _Rovia_.

I watched them go, smiling. We  _would_  meet again, I thought. Very soon.

My mother and I boarded the shuttle. We were the only passengers, which meant she was piloting. I groaned inwardly and made a mental note to gird my loins and buckle up. My mother was an excellent pilot if one was on a battlefield and in mortal peril. On a passenger vessel, however, her skills were rather more flagrant than what was required. There was no using the auto-pilot for Kira Nerys. Throughout my life, she’d routinely scared the pants off of me with her reckless flying. It was going to be a long flight back to Bajor.

My mother took her chair, started the warm-up sequence, and then requested clearance from Ops. While she was busy, I requested motion sickness medication from the replicator. I shot the medication in my arm, ditched the hypospray before I got caught, and then took a seat in the copilot’s chair. Shortly after that, we were clear of the station and on our way home.

My mother’s hands slid dexterously over the control panel as she made a few adjustments to our course. To my surprise, she finished by setting the ship’s auto-pilot. She turned her chair to face me.

“You haven’t asked me why I didn’t bring Odessa,” she said.

“She’s five, Mom. That’s reason enough.”

“True, but that’s not why I didn’t bring her. I’ve dealt with way worse than a cranky five-year-old.”

“I know,” I smiled. “As much as I want to see Odessa, I’m glad you didn’t bring her. I have so much to tell you, and there won’t be much time for us to talk when we get home.” My smile widened. “But I bet you knew that already.”

“I did know that already,” my mother returned. She rose. “I’ll get us some tea, and you can tell me all about your trip while we still have some quiet.”

My mother requested two  _deka_ teas, hot, and handed one to me. She settled in her chair, blowing over the rim of her mug. “So,” she said between puffs. “How was the journey? Any trouble?”

I blew on my own tea, eyeing her through the steam. “Is that what you really want to know?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“To me, Mom, yes. Just ask me what you really want to ask.”

“Fine, I will.” She sighed, plucking at an imaginary imperfection on her skirt. “How…is he?”

“He, who?”

I got a death stare for that.

“My father is well,” I replied hastily. “Busy, but well.”

“Oh, I bet. Must be quite the life, being king of the Dominion.”

“It seems so,” I said. “He's had a lot to deal with. There’s been some trouble on his side of the galaxy.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

I proceeded to fill my mother in on all I’d learned about the Dominion. I stayed mainly to politics, avoiding the mention of my father as much as possible, and said nothing of his job offer. I needed to take this one step at a time.

As I talked, my mother listened intently, her mind switching to full admiral mode. She grilled me with the kinds of questions only a military officer and seasoned diplomat would ask. I felt like I was being debriefed. Half of her questions I couldn’t answer, but I did let her know that all of them would be answered very soon, by someone with far better answers than mine. In six months’ time, I informed her, my father would return to the Alpha Quadrant.

“I see,” my mother said, and that was all she’d say. Her lips were pursed tight, their edges turning white and bloodless.

I was sure to keep my tone gentle. “Father also said to tell you he will not trouble you. He will not seek you out. You don’t have to see him, unless you want to.”

 _BANG!_  She slammed her mug down on the console. Something cracked and I flinched.

“But I will have to see him, won’t I?” she snapped. She stood and started pacing the cabin. “Adassa, this is big news—huge! The Federation has been waiting to hear from the Founders for over a third of a century, and believe me, there will be  _much_  fanfare over it. Your father’s face will be everywhere! He’ll be on every newscast, every public view screen, everywhere I go and across the entire quadrant. I won’t be able to avoid him. Your father and his damned Dominion peace treaty will be the only thing they’ll talk about, for months! It’s going to start all over again—the press, the constant questions, the invasion of my privacy—just like it was after he left us!”

The fire suddenly went out of her, and she dropped in her chair. She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Prophets, Dassi, I am too damned old for this stuff.”

It was now or never. I may as well tell her the rest, and get it over with. “This time will be different, Mom. Mi’kal and I will be there to speak for the family, and you won’t have to deal with any of it. We will handle the press, but…but there’s more you need to know, Mom.”

I told her about my father’s offer, deliberately leaving out the bit about me becoming a Changeling. I can handle my mother’s temper better than anyone, but I’m not one to tempt the devil, either. Besides, telling her that I hadn’t flat-out refused to join the Link would’ve hurt her more than angered her. But I filled her in on the rest of it, including the gift of the  _Rovia_  and her motley crew.

“Lemme get this straight,” my mother said, color burning her cheeks. “Not only am I going to have to deal with my ex-husband again, with  _his_  face—which unlike mine probably hasn’t aged a damned day since the last time I saw it—he also gets you and my granddaughter in the bargain? You’re going to take Odessa away from me, just when I started my retirement?”

“Ma,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “I’m not taking her away. I would never do that to you, or her. I won’t always be able to take her with me, and she does have school. However, the next time I go to the Gamma Quadrant, which will be soon, I want to take Odessa. She should meet her grandfather and know who he is before all of this hits the air circulator. I don’t want her surprised by it.”

“A sensible answer and a correct one, which is what I always get from you, and now I can't be mad about it." She heaved a long sigh. "You always were so much like your father…And maybe now that you've met him, you won’t pull that face every time I say that.”

I smoothed my expression. “Maybe,” I said.

“Dassi, I don’t know what to say,” she said. “If you’re asking for my blessing, I'm too stubborn to give it, but I don’t have the right to say no. No matter how I might feel about your father or the Dominion, those feelings are my problem, not yours. This is your big chance. I won’t be the one to take it from you, and besides, it’s your life. You need to choose your own path.”

“A mother’s answer," I smiled, "which is what I always get from you.” I dropped to my knees in front of her and took both of her hands in mine. “Just remember, Mom, I love you, and no matter what the future brings us, I always will.”

_And for a Changeling, always is truly forever…_

She sniffled and pulled me into a hug. “I love you, too, my bean. Which means that for you, I will put up with anything the universe throws at me, even your father.”

I burned to tell my mother that there was someone in the Gamma Quadrant who also loved her forever, but I kept my silence. Again, I wasn’t sure if hearing that would help her or hurt her. Besides, it wasn’t my place. It was up to my parents to decide where their relationship went from here. For my part, I would do my best to serve as the bridge for our family in whatever way I could.

My mother kissed my cheek and let me go. I took my seat. She canceled the auto-pilot and resumed flying the shuttle manually. When she took us straight through the Fa’lan Asteroid Belt instead of going around it, I didn’t say a word. It was a short-cut, I knew, to get us home faster, so I gripped the handles of my chair and smiled my way through the turbulence. Not much later, Bajor came into view. I grinned from ear to ear.

I was home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on characters belonging to someone else. The characters are theirs, the story is mine.


End file.
